Someone Like You
by ice princess deluxe
Summary: Every relationship has to start somewhere.  A prequel to A Rush to the Start.    *Nov. 13, 2010: all chapters have been edited.*
1. Chapter 1

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 1  
Rating: G  
Summary: Every relationship has to start somewhere. A prequel to A Rush to the Start.

* * *

The green velvet doublet was scratchy and hot. Nathaniel wormed his fingers underneath the neckline, but his mother pulled his hand away. "You'll wrinkle your suit," she said patiently, giving him a sympathetic look.

"I don't know why we have to dress up, Mama," he complained, staring at the bench across from him where his little sister was sound asleep. At least _she_ didn't have to worry about mussing her outfit. At three years of age, _nobody_ really cared what you did or said, because you were _just so precious, aren't you?_ When one turned eight, like Nathaniel was, one stopped being cute and precious and was expected to act in a way that didn't embarrass their family. Nathaniel still didn't know exactly what that meant, but apparently it involved wearing stuffy clothing that were normally saved for family portraits or visits to Denerim to see the king.

"We have to dress up because we are going to be Teyrn Cousland's guests," Adria softly explained, her hands smoothing Delilah's dark curls away from her sleeping face. "We must make the proper impression."

"But it's itchy." He couldn't really remember much about Teyrn Cousland; he'd only seen him once or twice and only very briefly before Adria had ushered him back out of his father's study and back to his rooms. What he did remember was that the Teyrn was a nice man who had laughed a lot, much more than Father ever did. Father was fun to be with and he occasionally had fantastic stories to share with Nathaniel whenever they were together, but he was quieter than the Teyrn. Nathaniel had said as much to Adria before their current trip and she had agreed, saying that Nathaniel was just like his father in that respect.

Nathaniel liked that idea. Father was well respected and strong, a hero in his own right. He wanted nothing more than to grow up to be just like him.

"I know, my love," Adria said. "And as soon as we're able, we'll get you out of it."

"You spoil him," his mother said, rubbing absently at the growing bump at her belly. Pretty soon, Nathaniel would have another brother or sister. He hoped to have a brother, that way he would have someone to play with outside.

"Well, we can't expect our little lordship to stay in his formal wear once he meets the Teyrn's children. You do remember young master Fergus, don't you, Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel shook his head. He could vaguely remember meeting a boy when Teyrn Cousland last visited Vigil's Keep, but that had been three years ago. "Fergus is a year older than you," his mother supplied. "He has a sister that you haven't met yet. Lady Moira is two years younger than you are."

He must have made a face, thinking that any girls - no matter if they were three like his sister or six like this Moira - were simply bad news because Adria quietly chuckled. "I think that you will get along with her well. From what we've heard, she's quite the adventurous type."

His mother tisked. "Disgraceful, how they allow her to be such a hellion." Nathaniel didn't know what a hellion was, but it must not be good if it made his mother's nose wrinkle in distaste. "Nevertheless, you must show them the utmost respect."

"But why?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he quickly glanced at Adria to see her reaction.

"Because," his mother said, her voice stiff. "The Couslands control Amaranthine."

"But Papa…"

"Yes, your father rules over the land as Arl, but Teyrns are more powerful than Arls. If they wanted to, the Couslands could throw us out on our ear without two coppers to rub together."

"Surely you don't think such a thing would happen," Adria said quietly, her eyes downcast in a way that Nathaniel had seen many of the maids and other servants look whenever they talked to his parents. "Teyrn Cousland is a kind man."

"And we _need_ to stay on his kind side just as much as we possibly can. You know how Rendon…" his mother stopped herself, seeming to realize that she was speaking to someone below her station instead of a peer or trusted confidante. She pressed her lips tightly together until it looked as if there was one pinkish white line across her face. "Betrothals to either Fergus or Moira will cement our status. I'm fortunate that I can offer a son or a daughter to the bargaining table, though I think that the task shall fall on Delilah's shoulders once she's old enough. I can easily see Moira going to Cailan before she went to Nathaniel."

Nathaniel's brow furrowed as he tried to understand what his mother was saying, but he couldn't make heads or tails out of her words. He looked out of the carriage window and suddenly all of his discomfort was forgotten right along with his mother's cryptic messages. "Is that the castle?" he asked, pointing out of the window. White stone gleamed in the sunlight and a banner bearing twin laurel leaves flapped in the breeze. It was much larger than the Keep, and Nathaniel's eyes widened as the horse's hooves clattered along the cobblestones in a pleasant manner.

"It is," his mother said, reaching over and fussing with his clothes. He hadn't moved much since being forced to wear the itchy, confining clothing that morning, but apparently he had managed to wrinkle his sleeves. "Now remember what I've said; you must be on your best behavior."

"I will, Mama."

"_Mother_," she corrected curtly, dabbing the edge of her lace handkerchief with her tongue before swiping at his cheek to remove a remnant of breakfast there.

"I'm sure you'll make us all proud, my Angel," Adria said, giving him a wink as she gathered Delilah into her arms to fuss over her clothing. Delilah blinked once, her large dark eyes owlish, before falling back to sleep on Adria's shoulder.

"Of course he will," his mother replied, leaving Nathaniel alone in order to take a small hand mirror out of her dress pocket to make sure that her hair was still in order. "He is a Howe."

* * *

The castle looked even larger now that they were out of the carriage and in the outer courtyard. Birds chirped pleasantly in the late spring afternoon and the sun shone brightly against the stone walls. "What did your mother say in the carriage?" his father asked him as they walked towards the doors leading to the main hallway.

"She said that I should be on my best behavior, Pa…_Father_," Nathaniel recited, catching himself from calling his father by the more familiar 'Papa' that was acceptable when they were at home, but never when they had company.

His father put a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. "Good. I want you to do something else while you're here."

"What is it?"

"I want you to befriend the Cousland girl."

"Father?"

"Do not question me, my boy. Your mother is certain she'll be able to endear Delilah to the family, but I have my doubts. It falls on you to ensure our future."

Nathaniel cocked his head to the side. "I don't understand."

His father took a breath, his thumb rubbing against Nathaniel's shoulder in a way that was familiar. His father was not prone to showing great displays of affection, but Nathaniel knew that he cared a great deal for him. "I apologize," he said quietly, the pinched look to his face softening for a moment. "You often act more mature than your age; there are times where I forget that you're just a child. You should not have burdens put upon you so soon."

Before Nathaniel could reply, the Great Hall's doors were opened and a man and woman stood in front of them. "Rendon!" the man said, clasping his father's forearm in his hand in way of welcome. "I trust the roads were favorable."

"As well as could be expected, Bryce," his father replied, clasping the man's forearm in his own hand and mirroring his smile.

"And this must be young Nathaniel. My, he's grown since I last saw him. How do you do, lad?"

Nathaniel bowed from the waist, just as he'd been instructed. "I am very well. Thank you for asking, my lord."

Bryce grinned. "You have such good manners. Your parents must be quite proud of you." Nathaniel snuck a sideways glance at his father, relieved to see that Rendon's lips were curled upward in a pleased smile. "And here is the rest of your family! Regina, you grow lovelier every time we see you. I see that your daughter is following in your footsteps."

Behind them, Nathaniel's mother laughed. "You are too kind, my lord. Eleanor, it is so good to see you again, my lady."

The lady that had stood beside the Teyrn gave a small curtsey. "As it is to see you. Here, let us go to my garden and sit while we catch up. A woman in your delicate condition shouldn't be standing long." Nathaniel caught a glimpse of his mother's bright red skirts out of the corner of his eye as she handed Delilah off to Adria, the Teyrna linking her arm through his mother's as they walked out of the Great Hall.

"Surely you remember my children, Rendon," Bryce said, gesturing towards the two dark haired children standing beside a woman who was presumably their nanny. "My son, Fergus." The boy was busy running his fingers around the collar of his doublet, much how Nathaniel longed to do with his own, though he didn't dare risk his father's disapproval. "And my daughter, Moira." He laughed as the girl seemed to hide behind her nanny's skirts. "Come now, Pup. You've picked an odd time to decide to become shy."

After a little gentle prodding from her governess, Moira stepped forward. "How do you do?" she said, her voice carrying a slight lisp. She picked up the skirts to her dress and bobbed into an awkward curtsey. Nathaniel couldn't help but notice that she stared at him in curiosity.

Fergus spoke up next. "Do you like Warriors and Dragons?" he asked. "We can play if you want to."

Moira's face went from shy to interested in a blink of an eye. "No, I want to play Black Fox!"

"We _always_ play Black Fox."

"Yes, because I'm good at it!" She pointed to Nathaniel, forgetting protocol completely. "And he looks like he'd be a grand Karolis. You'll play with us, won't you?"

"I…" _Befriend the Cousland girl,_ his father had told him. Looking up at his father, he asked, "May I?"

His father gave him an indulgent smile and patted his hand against Nathaniel's shoulder. "Of course you may. Run along now, my boy."

Moira took hold of his hand and tugged. "Come on! We must plan our ambush on the greedy nobleman!"

Nathaniel allowed himself to be pulled out of the Great Hall, hearing Fergus complain beside them. "Why must I always play the greedy nobleman? The last time, you hit me with a rock."

"You didn't duck fast enough!"

Behind them, Nathaniel heard the Cousland's nanny shout out. "Moira! We have guests!" Moira sighed dramatically and stopped trying to tug her dress over her head with her free hand.

"But it's so itchy, Nan!"

"And I'm certain you can wait until we reach your room to properly change into your play clothes, young lady."

Fergus snorted beside Nathaniel. "I think the grown-ups put us in stuffy clothes to punish us for something."

Nathaniel tilted his head. "What would they do that for?"

"I don't know, but if I ever have children, I'm never going to do the same to them." He glanced at Nathaniel conspiratorially. "I'm never going to make them eat lima beans either."

Nathaniel looked at the two children he was expected to befriend, thinking that their loud and boisterous behavior was a far cry from the quiet of the Keep. He felt very much like a fish would probably feel if it found itself out of its element. "Lima beans are disgusting," he agreed cautiously, even though he secretly liked them.

Fergus grinned, his cheeks dimpling. "I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends."

* * *

It was much later that night when it started to rain. While their family stayed with the Couslands, Nathaniel was to share Fergus' room. It was fine by both boys, seeing that after the initial awkwardness had worn off, they had indeed gotten along well. Moira was a constant shadow, which didn't bother Nathaniel either. She was a strange girl; he'd thought that all girls were prissy and afraid to get dirty, but Moira ran about with them all day long, skinning her knees and getting grubby right alongside them. Fergus had finally had enough of her tagging along and had chased her about with a dead spider they had found in the barn, which seemed to be the only thing his sister was afraid of. She had run off crying, but returned later before supper as if nothing had happened.

Even the rain sounded different than at home. There were chains dangling down from the water spouts near Fergus' window that were fashioned into some sort of cups. When the water filled each cup, it spilled over into the one below, creating a dripping noise that almost sounded musical in nature. It was nice, and it surely beat listening to the rain fall in heavy plops outside his bedroom.

Both boys were still awake, even though they had been sent to bed hours ago. They had blown out the candle at the bedside, and were busy entertaining themselves with making out shapes in the shadows whenever lightning illuminated the room when the door opened.

"Fergus?" Moira's voice came out of the dark, and for the first time that day, Nathaniel heard her sound frightened. Even with the spider earlier on, she had yelled and screamed as if highly annoyed instead of scared. "Are you awake?"

"Oh, not again." Fergus got out of bed. Nathaniel sat up and watched as lightning flashed, showing the siblings at the doorway. "How many times have I told you? There are no monsters under your bed."

"But I heard them growling!"

"That was the thunder. Remember what Papa said about the thunder?"

"I know, but…" lightning flashed again and Moira jumped. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Fergus sighed. "Come on then. Be quick about it; the floor's cold."

Moira climbed into bed, only noticing Nathaniel just then. "Hello," she said, ducking her head shyly.

"Move over," Fergus said, climbing in behind her. The bed was large enough that the three of them could lay on their backs without touching the other, but Nathaniel lay there as stiff as a board, unsure as to what protocol would say when one found themselves in a similar position while one was supposed to be on their best behavior, befriend children of important people, and conduct themselves in a manner that wouldn't embarrass one's family. The three of them were quiet for a while and Nathaniel heard Fergus' breath deepen in sleep.

Thunder rumbled again and Moira jumped, turning onto her side so she faced Nathaniel. Before he knew what to do, she was curled against him, her hands clutching his nightshirt. "It'll be all right," he said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. He glanced to his left, but the snore behind Moira told him that he was on his own.

"I don't like thunder," she whispered, her face tucked against his neck.

"Just pretend that thunder is something else. See? Doesn't it sound like a stomach grumble?"

The next rumble made the bed frame tremble slightly. "That is not helping, Nate," she whimpered, burrowing closer. "Monster stomachs grumble when they want to eat little girls."

"My name is Nathaniel."

"But I like Nate better."

"I thought that you wouldn't be scared of anything, let alone silly monsters," he said, changing the subject. "I thought only spiders scared you."

"Spiders are icky, but they don't scare me. I just pretend they do so Fergus can chase me with them. It makes him happy."

"You're a weird girl."

"And you're a weird boy. You don't act at all like my brother. Why are you so quiet?" She moved a little ways away from him so she had room to prop herself up on her elbow. The room was pitch black except for the flashes of lighting here and there, so she couldn't quite make out his expression. "See? You're being quiet now."

"I was trying to sleep."

She poked at his side with her finger. "You're not going to answer me, are you?"

"I don't know what answer to give you." It was strange; this was the most anyone had ever paid attention to him before besides Adria. "Do you always talk this much?"

"Papa says that I'm charming. He calls me his little chatterbox." More thunder rumbled, but this time, Moira was preoccupied and didn't pay attention to it. "What does your papa call you?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "I'm his son. He calls me Son."

"You don't have any nicknames?"

"Of course not." He wasn't about to tell her that Adria called him her little angel; that might lead to teasing.

Moira settled back against him, her head on his shoulder. "Poor Nathaniel. It's a good thing that I've decided to call you Nate then." She wrapped her arms around his arm and yawned. "You might be weird, but I think I like you."

Nathaniel didn't know what to say to that, so he stayed silent until he felt her breath puff against his cheek in even exhalations. "Thank you," he finally said. Her hair was tickling his nose, so he used his free hand to brush it aside. Moira made a little noise in her sleep when his fingers tangled in her curls, but she didn't wake up. If anything, she snuggled closer to him.

He lay like that for the longest time, listening to both of his bedmates sleep. It wasn't long before the combination of soothing rain outside the window and steady breathing next to him lulled Nathaniel into a deep slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 2  
Rating: G  
Summary: The scar on Nathaniel's knee is finally explained.  
Note: I'm using ten_by_ten's prompt of "forest" for this one. I'm also finding out that Moira was a bossy, sassy little kidlet growing up. I'm kind of liking that. *pinches cheeks*

* * *

"Whatever are you doing up there?"

Nathaniel looked down from his perch to see Moira staring up at him from the ground. "Nothing," he mumbled, tucking away the small book he had brought with him into his jacket pocket. It was late fall and the weather had turned cooler almost overnight. If Nathaniel breathed hard enough, he could almost see his breath in the weak afternoon sun.

Moira jammed her fists onto her hips. "You're going to catch a cold up there, and then I'll not have anyone to play with." Fergus had fallen ill, more than likely due to their romp in the stream that ran close to Castle Cousland. At twelve years of age, Nathaniel had proven old enough to finally stay for a month with the Teyrn's family. Since their introduction four years ago, Nathaniel had acclimated to the Cousland children's loud and rambunctious natures, even if he did find himself wishing for a bit of time alone, which was exactly why he had climbed the tree Moira found him upon in the first place.

"And you'll catch a cold not wearing your shoes, my lady," he answered, looking down at her bare feet. Her toes were filthy; wherever she'd been must have been muddy, because the hem of her dress was completely ruined. "Whatever would your mother say?"

Moira snorted. "Mama will probably say that she's heartbroken to be raising such a heathen." The way she said it made Nathaniel believe it was a common proclamation from the Teyrna, because Moira didn't seem bothered with the thought that her mother would be upset by the state of her clothing. "But she's not here right now, is she?" Moira amused herself by walking along the tree's wide exposed roots, her arms held out to her sides to provide balance. "Are you going to answer me, Nate?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "I was reading."

She made a face. "Out here? It's too nice of a day to waste it reading."

"And what do you propose we do instead?" He stared up at the sky through the canopy of branches, momentarily lost in thought at the idea that one of the patches of blue that poked out from the orange and red leaves looked something like a charging horse and rider. He must have stared at it for quite some time, because Moira's voice at his ear startled him.

"Perhaps we can play a game," she said, hanging upside down from her perch. Her voice was muffled, mostly because her dress had fallen over her head, showing that she was wearing a tunic and a pair of breeches underneath that looked suspiciously like something that had come from her brother's clothing trunk, especially since the legs of her pants were rolled up numerous times. Nathaniel decided that it was best not to comment.

"Like?" he asked instead, trying not to panic at the thought of Moira suddenly losing her footing and falling to the ground. She shadowed him and Fergus wherever the two boys went, and Nathaniel had long since thought of her as a sort of sister as well as a friend. She was ten, and he often felt that seeing that he was older than she that he should be responsible for keeping her out of harm's way as much as he could.

That line of thinking meant that he was often as grubby and bruised as she was at the end of the day, but he was quickly discovering that he didn't quite mind so much, especially since the three of them wound up having such a good time in the process. He treasured coming to Highever, where no one was constantly harping on him to watch his posture and to speak quietly and _for the Maker's sake, don't do anything to embarrass the family, Nathaniel._ A guilty pang shot through him as he thought of Teyrn Cousland – whenever the three of them came back inside dirty and with tangles in their hair, the Teyrn would merely laugh while the Teyrna would sigh in exasperation and order them to bathe. Even though she complained about them tracking mud into the indoor hallways, she would chastise them in such an amused tone of voice that Nathaniel knew that she wasn't all that upset about things. His own mother would have been furious and Father would have stared down at him in such a disapproving manner that made Nathaniel feel ten times worse than had he taken his hand to him.

It wasn't that he didn't love his own parents, but he did enjoy the way that the Couslands had accepted him and his siblings as if they were their own children. He was still as polite as he knew how to be in their presence, but he had long since lost the fear that he would be punished for saying or doing something out of the bounds of the rules of proprietary that his parents had drilled into his head.

"Oh _Nate,_" Moira said, shaking him out of his thoughts, her braids swinging around her ears as she continued to hang upside down. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" Somehow, she had managed to tuck her chin under the hem of her upturned skirt so that her face was once again visible and Nathaniel saw how her lips had pressed together in a displeased line.

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"You do that a lot."

"One of us has to. You're too busy running off without thinking in the first place."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "One of us has to," she replied back, crossing her eyes until Nathaniel cracked a smile. "Otherwise nothing would get done just by sitting and thinking all the time." She grunted as she swung herself upright, her bare feet dangling close to Nathaniel's head. "This is boring."

He reached up and ran his finger over the sole of her left foot, making her screech when he hit a ticklish spot. "I apologize for being such a boring companion," he said, putting as much sarcasm as he could into his words.

"Then you're just going to have to make it up to me," she said primly, climbing down from her branch. "I've decided that we're to play a game of Dragons and Knights. I get to be the knight first."

"Why is it that Fergus and I always have to play the parts in a game where we get hit with things?" he wondered out loud, not really expecting Moira to answer him. "The last time, you hit your brother with a rock."

"It isn't my fault that my aim is so good or that Fergus can't duck in time, now is it?" she retorted, shimmying down the trunk of the tree until she was close enough to the ground to drop safely down. "Are you going to play or not?"

Nathaniel grinned before climbing down a few branches so he could dramatically jump down in front of her, just like the pirates in the book of stories Adria would often read him did as they jumped down onto their ship's decks from a high mast. "I'd start running, Ser Knight," he growled, holding his hands out in front of him, his fingers curled up to resemble claws. "Else I'm going to have a quick lunch!"

Moira screamed in delight, picking up her skirt in her hands as she ran away so she wouldn't trip. Nathaniel roared after her, chasing her through the trees. Even though they shouted out taunting words to one another, Nathaniel made sure to keep them steered close to the castle. The captain of the guard was always telling the three of them to watch for wolves in the forest, and Nathaniel had heard plenty of stories from Amaranthine to know that the two of them alone would be no match for a hungry wolf, no matter how well Moira knew the forest.

He had lost her around the bend of trees, and he stopped playing long enough to listen around him. He could hear the chirping of birds in the trees above them, but he had failed to hear the crunch of her feet through the thick layer of leaves that carpeted the ground. "Moira?" he asked, looking around. The hair at the back of his neck prickled and his mind went to things darker than wolves or bears that might roam the woods, even in broad daylight. He'd never seen one, but merchants visiting the Keep would tell tales of things called darkspawn that made his blood run cold. "Moira, let's head back to the castle, all right?" He took a hesitant step forward, then another. "Moira! I'm not playing any longer! Answer me!"

The blow that came from his right took him completely unaware. Something hit his leg with enough force to knock him onto his side, his back banging against a nearby tree. "Ah ha! The dragon has been slain!" Moira crowed, holding onto the thick end of a fallen tree branch as if it were a sword. She'd switched tactics, standing still and quiet instead of running so that she could ambush Nathaniel as he passed her hiding spot. Her stealth had paid off, seeing that he was lying at her feet, completely defeated. "It's your turn to be the knight, Ser," she told him, twisting the branch so she could hand it to him, hilt first. It was odd, but the branch was moving with some resistance.

"Ow." Nathaniel said, his voice unnaturally flat. He sat up and immediately regretted it. Pain flared up from his knee as soon as he tried to move it.

Moira tilted her head. "What's the matt..." she stopped mid-sentence when she saw red stain his breeches. "Nathaniel, you're _bleeding!_" she yelled, dropping the branch, her eyes wide.

"That tends to happen when you stab me with a stupid branch," he said between clenched teeth. He dared a glance down at his knee and saw that the tip of her branch was stuck in his skin. The wood was partially rotten, but it seemed as if the one strong, sharp piece had pierced his clothes and flesh.

"Don't move it!" she shouted, kneeling beside him, her hands fluttering above his knee as if she were unsure where to touch.

"Unless you want to carry the end of that branch while we walk back to the castle, then we're going to have to break the tip off," he explained, grabbing a weak spot a little ways away from his clothes. Moira made a distressed sound when he snapped off the piece of wood. "Calm down," he told her. "Just pretend that we're playing Black Fox and this is an arrow."

"But the Black Fox n-never sh-hot Karolis," she wailed, her bottom lip trembling as the first big tears rolled down her cheeks.

Nathaniel sat there and stared up at her, dumbfounded as to why she would burst into tears. Surely they'd gotten worse cuts than this one, even if it did hurt something awful. While she rubbed her eyes with her hands, Nathaniel pulled the bit of wood that had been stuck in his skin out. It was really no bigger than his first finger, but it had been sharp and Nathaniel wasn't sure that he had gotten it all. "Well, there's always a first time for everything," he said, standing up. His knee ached, but he could flex it. His trousers were a loss though; the small bloodstain was spreading and wasn't likely to come out, no matter how skilled the laundry staff was.

"We have to get you to Nan," Moira sniffled, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I can walk," he said dryly.

"But I _stabbed_ you!"

"It's just a scratch, really."

"Nan might have to cut your leg off! Then you'll have to walk on a wooden leg, like Markus, the blacksmith's apprentice."

"I don't…" He looked down and realized that the side of his tunic was getting wet as Moira silently cried against him. It was odd, having someone like Moira, who normally sneered at a little spilt blood from her own scrapes before continuing their play, shed tears because of some injury that she'd accidentally caused. He tightened the arm he had draped around her shoulder in a comforting hug. "If Nan does, will you carve your name on one of the sides?"

Moira glared at him, her eyes red. "That was not funny, Nate."

"But I'm serious." He let go and tugged on her hand. "Come on, we're almost back to the castle."

It didn't take very long to find Nan, especially since Moira had burst into tears yet again when she saw that the bloodstain on Nathaniel's trousers had grown by the smallest bit. "What have my two ragamuffins gotten themselves into?" her governess tisked, looking down at the both of them.

"Oh Nan," Moira started, sniffling again and wiping the back of her hand against her nose. "Nathaniel…"

"I fell," Nathaniel said quickly, cutting Moira off. "We were climbing trees and I misjudged the distance between branches."

Nan arched her eyebrow as if she didn't believe him, but she tucked Nathaniel against her side. "Well, let's see what sort of damage you've caused yourself, my lad," she said instead, ushering the both of them towards the castle infirmary. "And just where have you put your shoes, milady Wild Child? Your mother is going to have fits when she sees you running about in bare feet and twigs in your hair."

It turned out that Nathaniel's knee looked far worse than it really was. He had managed to get all but a few splinters of the branch out on his own, but Nan had made sure that the wound was clean after digging around with a pair of tweezers. He had sat quietly through the whole ordeal, but Moira had squirmed and squeaked at his side as if it were her knee getting bandaged up instead of his.

"There," Nan said, wrapping a bandage over his leg. "It should heal quite nicely if you don't pick at it, but I think you might have a tiny bit of a scar, just by looking at how you hurt it."

"That root was pretty sharp," Nathaniel agreed, nodding. A _scar_. Wait until he showed Fergus. His friend was going to be so jealous.

Nan glanced at Moira, who looked guilty and miserable before turning her attention to Nathaniel. "A root. Yes." Nan smoothed her hand over his hair and affectionately patted his cheek. "You're a good lad," she told him, her voice soft. "Now," she told the both of them, clearing her throat. "Lunch is within the hour; I want the two of you bathed and dressed appropriately beforehand. And that means no wearing your brother's clothing under yours, young lady."

"Yes ma'am," Moira said, her tone uncharacteristically meek. Nathaniel watched as Nan gathered up the bandages and jar of red paste she had smeared on his knee that had dulled the pain down to almost nothing.

"I am so sorry," Moira told him once Nan had left, throwing her arms around his waist again. "Are you mad at me?"

"It was an accident," Nathaniel said, looking down at the tangled mess of dark curls and braids resting against his shoulder. Sure enough, there were leaves in her hair. "Why should I be mad at you?" This was so odd; Nathaniel didn't know quite how to react.

"But I made you bleed!"

"That's what usually happens when something cuts your skin."

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to apologize."

"Forgive me. Please, go on."

Moira scowled, but squeezed him harder. "I just don't want you to stop being my friend." Nathaniel was concerned when her voice started to waver again. "I like you, Nate."

"Well, I like you too," he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. What did people do when confronted with crying girls anyway?

She looked up at him, her face blotchy and red. "You do?"

"Of course I do," he muttered. "I'd be mad at you otherwise."

She sighed against his shoulder. "He likes me," she whispered. She said it so quietly that Nathaniel wasn't quite sure he had heard her correctly. "So we're still friends?" she asked a little louder.

"Yes, we're still friends." _Now_ he squirmed uncomfortably, unsure as to what to say next. "Are we going to sit here forever?" he asked. "Because I heard that the kitchen staff was preparing potato and meat pies for lunch. They're my favorite." The handheld pastries were also good for sneaking back to Fergus, who was surely sick of clear broth and plain toasted bread by now.

She looked at him oddly before hopping off the bench they'd been sitting on. "Come on then, Nan said she wants us presentable before we eat." Before he could react, she went up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek before running off, her skirts whispering against her legs.

Nathaniel watched her go, a confused look on his face. "She's stuck on ambushing me today," he mused to no one in particular, his hand absently rubbing at the spot on his cheek she had kissed. "Girls are so weird."


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 3  
Rating: G  
Summary: The Couslands and the Howes spend a few days in Denerim.

* * *

"Now, remember what I told you," Eleanor said, sitting primly in the carriage seat next to her daughter.

"Yes ma'am," Moira sighed. "I'm not to be rude, run about barefoot, or do anything unladylike while we're guests at the Arl's estate." She was excited about her family's stay in Denerim, especially since they were going to be guests in Arl Eamon Guerrin's home for the next week. She'd only been there once, but she had been too young to actually wander around on her own, and she was curious as to what their temporary lodgings would have to offer.

"It would be easier to tell her not to breathe," Fergus joked from the bench across from them. Moira scowled at her brother but refrained from kicking his shin in retaliation, which she thought was a good start to proper ladylike behavior.

"Prince Cailan will be visiting his uncle often, I'm told," Eleanor pointed out, looking at her son. "I expect proper manners out of you as well." Fergus was fifteen – a year older than the prince – but his mother thought that even though her son was nearly a man, it never hurt to remind him to behave. "The last time you and Cailan were together, you wound up with a black eye."

Fergus had the good grace to look contrite. "He started it," he said. Even Moira hadn't known the entire details to that scuffle a year and a half ago, but it seemed as if Cailan had come out with a split lip to match Fergus' black eye. Strangely enough, the two became close friends afterwards.

Moira shook her head. Boys were odd. "Mama, why couldn't I ride with the Howes?" she asked, looking out the back window of the carriage to look at the one behind them. Arl Howe had chosen to ride on horseback alongside Moira's father, the two men in deep conversation. She waved at them both: her father waved back while the Arl gave a polite nod. Behind them, Moira could see that Nathaniel had escaped the confines of the small family carriage and was sitting next to the driver. She smiled and waved at him, her smile growing larger when he waved back at her.

"Someone has a crush on our Nate," Fergus teased.

Moira blushed. "I do not!" After a quick glance to see if her mother was looking, she stuck her tongue out at her brother, who crossed his eyes in reply.

Eleanor looked up from her needlework just in time to see her son's expression. "Honestly Fergus, leave your sister be." She tucked the small circular loom back into the basket she had brought with them. "And to answer your question my darling, you can't ride with the Howes because we must arrive as a family."

Moira sighed and turned away from the window. It was slightly stuffy for an early spring day and she wanted nothing more than to be out of the carriage and in the open air. With nothing better to do, she leaned against her mother's side and let the rocking motion of the wheels lull her to sleep.

* * *

"Now, remember what I told you," Rendon said, holding out a hand to help his son down from the driver's seat.

"Yes, Father." Fourteen years of age was too old to call his father the familiar 'Papa' any longer, even when they were alone at home.

His father gave him a rare smile. "Good. Now stand up straight and fix your hair before your mother nags you about it." Nathaniel couldn't help but notice as his father helped the rest of their family out of the carriage that there was a definite chill in the atmosphere when it came to his parents. They never quarreled in front of their children, but something was wrong. He could tell by the stiff way that his father offered his arm to his mother and by the tight manner which Mother held her lips, which she always did whenever something displeased her.

Nathaniel shook his head, deciding that his parents' affairs were none of his concern. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair to put it into some semblance of order while he watched Teyrn Cousland swing Moira out of the carriage, making his friend squeal in laughter.

"Bryce, really," Teyrna Eleanor was saying, shaking her head at her husband and daughter.

"We promise my love, that was the last outburst for the day. Isn't that right, Pup?" The Teyrn then winked at his daughter, who nodded solemnly before winking back up at her father.

"Yes, Papa." Moira walked over to Nathaniel and offered him a wide smile. "Have your parents told you to behave as well, Nate?" she asked, leaning close to him so they could speak without being overheard.

"They stopped reminding me last year," he replied, standing up straighter as his mother walked past them. "It is to be expected of me."

Moira gave him a sad look that he didn't know how to interpret. Sliding her hand into his, she gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Just wait until the grownups decide to ignore us again. Then we'll see how much fun we can get into."

Fergus fell into step on Nathaniel's right. "Ten bits say that Moira winds up getting muddy within the hour."

Moira drew in an angry breath. "I heard that."

Nathaniel, ever the diplomatic one in their group, stroked the back of Moira's hand with his thumb. "Don't be silly, Fergus. It hasn't rained in days." He grinned. "I'll wager you fifteen bits that she gets bored and beats someone up instead."

* * *

An hour later, the only thing keeping Moira from fidgeting was the fact that both Fergus and Nathaniel owed her fifteen bits each once she saw them again. She and Delilah were currently sitting in between their mothers, daintily sipping on tea with Arlessa Isolde. Moira enjoyed listening to the Arlessa speak in quiet tones, her accent so much different than everyone else in the room, but she hated the fact that she had to sit ramrod straight while trying to avoid getting crumbs on her dress. It was difficult; the crackers the Arlessa's maids had served them were wafer thin and crunchy and the cheese on top of them was crumbly. She glanced over at Delilah. Her friend was three years younger than she but it seemed as if she had already mastered the art of keeping her dress crumb-free while sitting perfectly straight.

By the time that the crackers – and Moira was still hungry after politely eating the two that were offered – were finished, Moira had all but tuned out what the ladies were speaking about. She glanced towards the open window, listening as she heard some commotion from the grounds below. "Mother," she said quietly when there was a lull in conversation. "May I sit by the window?"

Eleanor looked up from her tea cup. "Of course, my dear." She gave her daughter a faint smile, knowing that sitting so still was taking a toll on her.

She could feel the Arlessa's eyes on her as she crossed the room and sat on the window bench. A look down into the courtyard below made Moira wish even more that she could escape. Fergus and Prince Cailan were sparring amongst the trees and flowerbeds with wooden practice swords they must have dug up from somewhere while Nathaniel was sitting under the shade of a tree with Thomas. The mid-afternoon heat must have gotten to Thomas because he was leaning sleepily against his older brother's side while Nathaniel quietly read aloud from a book small enough to fit into a pocket for easy transportation. Nathaniel must have felt her eyes on him, because he chose then to look up, his mouth quirking upwards when he spotted her. She returned his slight smile with a larger one of her own, her hand rising to wave at him.

"Whoever are you looking at?" Isolde asked curiously, looking over at Moira. Moira guiltily snatched her hand away from the window and swiveled to face the rest of the ladies in the room.

"Prince Cailan is down in the courtyard," she replied, hoping that invoking the prince's name would keep her out of any breach of etiquette.

Isolde tilted her head. "Do you know the prince?"

Moira glanced at her mother before answering. "Not well, my lady. We've only met a handful of times." And honestly, she didn't quite care for Cailan. He was nice enough whenever they had spoken, but she could tell that he hadn't really known how to approach her when he had seen her wearing her brother's old clothes while she tagged along or hadn't known just how much his suggestion for her to run along and play with dolls had bothered her. She didn't even _own_ any dolls; her toy chest held wooden swords and daggers instead of stuffed animals.

"It is always nice to get to know others," Isolde said indulgently. "Perhaps if your mothers allow it, you and Dedire would like to join him."

Moira glanced at Delilah and her mother, noting how the latter's lips had thinned out into a fine line when the Arlessa called Delilah by the wrong name. "That is a lovely idea. I'm certain that my Nathaniel is down there as well." The words came out of Arlessa Howe's mouth in a pleasant manner, but even Moira could detect the hint of steel behind them. Given a reprieve from the sitting room, both Delilah and Moira curtseyed to Isolde before leaving.

"Such pleasant children," Isolde said as they went to the door. "Eleanor, surely you must know what a match Moira is for Cailan."

"I thought we'd never get to leave," Moira whispered out of the corner of her mouth as both girls walked down the stairs and towards the courtyard. She had heard the Arlessa's parting words and was busy mulling them over. Even though she was only twelve, she was well aware what Isolde meant by being a good match to the prince. Lady Landra often mentioned the same thing to Moira's mother whenever they talked about her son Dairren. So far, both of Moira's parents had deflected well-meaning hints with good humor, but Moira knew that she had at least four more years before she'd wind up betrothed to some Bann's son or another.

And if she was honest with herself, Moira desperately hoped that Nathaniel would want to court her by then. Fergus was far too observant for his own good; Moira had felt fondly about Nathaniel for a little over two years now, though she didn't know how to express her feelings into words just yet.

She took a breath as she and Delilah entered the gardens. Cailan spied them first, and Moira had to admit that he was a very handsome boy. "Moira! It's a pleasure to finally see you again," he said, bowing to her. "And Delilah, it's good to see you as well."

Moira gave a deep curtsey, knowing that her form wasn't as straight as Delilah's. "You look well, your Highness," she said, looking over Cailan's shoulder towards Nathaniel. He was standing there with a faint scowl on his face, making Moira wonder what had upset him so. She would have asked him, but Cailan held out his arm. "Come, let's tour the gardens together."

* * *

Nathaniel sat in the shade, trying and failing to ignore the way Cailan had all but taken Moira's attention all to himself. They were making a second round of the gardens, and something the prince had said made Moira laugh.

"You're brooding," Fergus said, flopping down beside him, careful not to wake Thomas.

"I'm not brooding."

Fergus snorted. "Pull the other leg. I know what's got you in a state."

Nathaniel picked at a nearby patch of flowers. "I'm not in a state."

Fergus ignored his friend's reply. "You're jealous, that's what."

"I'm not…" he paused. "I'm _what?_"

"Our Moira usually clings to you like a burr. Since she and your sister have come down here, she hasn't paid you any attention." He leaned back on his elbows and arched his eyebrow. "What do you think of that?"

"I…" He scowled. Cailan was the exact opposite of himself – where Nathaniel was quiet and serious, the prince was talkative and quick to make a joke. Nathaniel found himself glaring at Cailan's back. They wore their hair in a similar fashion, but even then they were a study of contrasts with the prince's golden head shining in the sunlight and Nathaniel's darker one blending into the shadows.

He frowned at the way Moira smiled up at Cailan. She never smiled like that at him before. "They are a good match," he said slowly.

Fergus snorted again. "Are you completely insane?" he asked. "Could you _see_ Moira as Queen? Ferelden would fall apart!"

"So what do you want me to do?" Nathaniel asked, looking at his sister. Even Delilah was staring up at the young prince as if every word that spilled out of his mouth was poetry.

"I don't know. Why don't _you _court my sister instead?"

Nathaniel turned his head to look at Fergus. "She's twelve."

"And in three more years, she'll be fifteen." Fergus lay back on the grass and stared up at the clouds. "Mother and Father have done their best to weed out potential suitors already, but the ones that are left don't deserve Moira. You've known her the longest; out of everyone, I would rather have you as a brother-in-law."

"You're just saying that because I'm your friend." Nathaniel wondered just why he was protesting; wasn't this what his father wanted in the first place? A marriage to the Teyrn's daughter would cement their place in society and give the Howe family coffers a sizeable boost with the dowry she'd bring in. That's what his father had always harped on, but Nathaniel lately found that tactic leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He didn't want to marry for money, he'd always wanted to marry a girl that he could respect and admire.

Moira laughed again and Nathaniel couldn't help but notice that her laughter seemed restrained, almost as if she were afraid to laugh as she normally did, lest the prince decide she was unsuitable. He frowned; Moira deserved to be with someone who liked her as she was; not how they wanted her to be.

"You _are_ jealous," Fergus teased, stacking his hands behind his head. "Oh, Moira's going to love hearing this!"

"You wouldn't dare." He considered Moira a friend. While he might not feel anything remotely romantic towards her, he did respect her thoughts and he enjoyed her company.

"I don't know. I might."

Nathaniel frowned. "You're just saying that because you know I can't do anything to retaliate." Protocol dictated that Nathaniel defer to everyone of higher rank than he, which meant that he had to agree with whatever Fergus or Cailan said, no matter how much he might think otherwise. Even in the privacy of the gardens, Nathaniel couldn't kick his friend because Thomas was sound asleep with his head on top of Nathaniel's knee. His little brother had been so excited to travel via the family carriage that he hadn't slept the entire trip. Now that they were at their destination, the lack of sleep finally caught up to him. Nathaniel absently ran his fingers through the fine strands of hair that curled over Thomas' neck. It was odd; he and Delilah both had thick, inky black hair since birth, but Thomas' was a dark brown that showed off reddish highlights whenever the sun hit it. As far as he knew, no one in the family had that color of hair.

"And I'm using that to my advantage," Fergus agreed, brining Nathaniel's attention back to the present. "I love my sister, Nate. All I've ever wanted is for her to be happy. _You_ make her happy."

"My friendship with your sister means a lot to me," he replied. "My friendship with the both of you means a lot to me."

Fergus sat up and lightly punched his friend's arm. "Come on, let's go rescue Cailan."

Nathaniel eased his brother's head off his knee. Thomas didn't stir. "I don't think the prince needs rescuing."

Fergus brushed loose pieces of grass off his pants. "Then let's liberate the girls. He's been hogging their attention for far too long."

* * *

Dinner with the Couslands was always an interesting affair, in Delilah's opinion. Whenever Father had guests for dinner back home, she and her brothers would eat in the kitchens with Adria. Pretty soon, Nathaniel would be invited to the adult table, seeing that he was going to turn fifteen in the winter. Arl Eamon seemed to follow Teyrn Bryce's example and had no children's table to speak of. The five of them were seated amongst the adults, which left Delilah feeling out of sorts, especially when the Arl and his brother Teagan struck up conversations with the children as if they were equals. A quick glance at her mother told her that she was expected to be on her finest behavior and anything less would be frowned upon.

Delilah carefully sipped her water, smiling quietly at Moira from across the table. Moira might be older than she was, but Delilah had always considered her a sister of sorts. She envied her sometimes: Moira had a wide scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose from being allowed outside in the sun. Delilah's own milky pale skin would have burnt to a crisp if she was out of doors as much as her friend was and she was positive that her dark hair wouldn't look as pretty with sun-bleached streaks of red and blonde as Moira's did.

At least the prince had left for the evening. Delilah had a horrible crush on Cailan and it was all she could do to keep her cheeks from permanently blushing. She was proud of herself; it seemed as if no one had caught on to her little infatuation yet. Logically, she knew that she was far on the list of potential wives for the prince, especially since Teyrn Loghain's daughter Anora as well as Moira were higher up. She was fine with that. Father would more than likely arrange a marriage for her to a suitable Bann's son when the time came for such matters and she would be the model wife, just how her mother had instructed her to be.

She only hoped that the man she married lived by the sea. She loved making trips to the beach with Adria and she'd be heartbroken if she had to live further inland.

Next to his sister, Nathaniel replied to Arl Eamon's question as to how his archery skills were progressing. Dinner was interesting, to say the least, even if it was more restrained than the usual dinners when it was just Fergus' family and his in Highever. He glanced across the table, watching as Moira spoke with her father and Teagan about the sword lessons she was beginning to take. Nathaniel knew about them, but he was amazed that Teyrn Bryce would allow his daughter to be taught such skills. A woman knight was not unheard of in Ferelden, especially in the common classes, but it was rare for a noblewoman to draw a weapon.

On Nathaniel's other side, he could all but feel the wave of disapproval come off his father. Nathaniel had no idea if it was because of the prince's earlier visit, or the fact that Moira was currently gesturing with her butter knife as she spoke, or even because Teagan was paying such close attention to the Teyrn's daughter. Nathaniel doubted that the last was the case; there was an age difference of thirteen years between Moira and Teagan. But still, Teagan was more than likely going to become the Bann of Rainesfere in a few years…

That thought made Nathaniel cut through his portion of roast beef with just a little more force than necessary.

* * *

Hours later, Nathaniel lay awake in the guest room the Arl had supplied for him. Delilah and Thomas were sleeping in Adria's room and Fergus was sharing another room with Moira, so the large four poster bed was his for the remainder of their stay. It was far larger than anything he'd ever slept in, even in Highever when he shared Fergus' room on visits, and he found that having such a wide ocean of bedclothes all to himself was making sleeping difficult.

He flopped onto his back and stared up at the canopy overhead. _Remember what I told you,_ his father had instructed when they first came into Denerim. _The prince is bound to show an interest in Moira. You must do whatever is necessary to make certain that interest is brief._ It would be easy to do, he knew it. All he had to do was make sure that she slipped and showed that she wasn't the prim and proper girl that Cailan thought she was. He wouldn't even have to do anything past vaguely goading her into behaving like she usually did. One glance would probably be enough to snap her temper, especially since he saw how strained her smile had been when Cailan mentioned how accomplished she should be at sewing or painting and how much Moira had wanted to participate in the boys' conversation about Grey Wardens. Nathaniel figured that given the opportunity, he could probably have Moira back to her old self - tangled hair, skinned knees and all – in less than an afternoon. Then Cailan would lose interest, Father would be pleased, and Fergus would stop talking about Nathaniel courting his sister just to keep her away from suitors that he didn't approve of.

Nathaniel frowned. He had a clear idea now as to what his father had planned all those years ago when he had first met the Cousland children, and yet again, he found that the idea of tricking Moira or sabotaging her prospects in any way felt _wrong_. She was his friend, first and foremost. He _wouldn't_ do that to her, no matter how disappointed his father would be in him.

The creak at the bedroom door made him turn his head. "I couldn't sleep," Moira told him as she slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Her feet were bare, but she had a thick robe on over her nightgown to ward off the nighttime chill. "Why are you still awake?"

He sat up in bed. "I couldn't sleep either. Do you want to talk about it?"

Moira climbed into bed, her feet cold as they brushed against his legs while she struggled with the sheets. "I don't want to be Queen," she declared, laying on her side. "Arlessa Isolde thinks that it is a grand idea and Mama doesn't seem too much against it either."

Nathaniel was going to say something, but Moira cut him off. "You know what that means, don't you? It means that I'm going to spend the rest of my life smiling politely at stupid comments about the weather instead of talking about fighting and battles and laughing at jokes that I don't really get and _wearing dresses,_ for Andraste's sake! I'll probably be made to quit my fencing lessons in exchange for etiquette classes and everything!" She flipped onto her back and threw her arm over her eyes. The quiet demeanor she'd shown the entire day was gone and he was faced with Moira in full tantrum-mode. He'd never been so grateful to see it before. As usual, her outbursts never lasted very long and her expression turned pensive. "The worst thing is that Cailan isn't a bad person. I could grow to like him, perhaps even come to think fondly of him, but I don't think that I could ever love him."

Moira turned so that she was facing Nathaniel again. "What do you think I should do? I know that it's too soon for everyone to think of marriage, but what happens in three or four years? What then?"

Nathaniel reached out and pushed a lock of hair out of Moira's face. "Then don't be Queen. Marry whoever makes you happy that doesn't mind having a wife who rarely wears dresses and can best him at swordplay."

"It's as simple as that?"

"I don't see why it couldn't be."

She scooted over until her head was pillowed on his shoulder. "You're a good friend, Nate. The only nice thing about living in Denerim would have been that the trip to and from Amaranthine would have been quicker."

He rolled his eyes even as he moved his arm so that she was curled under it instead of lying on top of it. "It's a good thing that you've decided against becoming royalty. I don't know if I'd be able to remember to call you 'your Majesty' every five minutes."

Moira smothered a laugh against his chest. "Of course you would. You're polite to a fault."

"Only because I have to make up for your lack of grace, as well as your brother's."

"Our lack of grace is only part of our charm, good Ser. You wouldn't like us so much otherwise." She put her hand up to hide a yawn. "I should get back to my room."

"You should. Fergus would worry if he wakes and finds you missing." Both of them knew that Fergus could sleep through anything, so that wasn't really an issue. He tightened his arm around her shoulder. Relief that he wasn't going to lose his friend to a royal marriage years down the line made the worry that had kept him awake vanish.

Moira nodded, but let Nathaniel go only long enough to pull the blankets higher up over them. Snuggling closer, she sighed. "It would be entirely improper of me to stay the night."

He waited until he heard her breathing even out in slumber before letting his eyelids droop. His last thought before he drifted off was that doing something improper had never felt so right.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 4  
Rating: G  
Summary: A lot can happen in a year.  
Note: Mama Cousland has put her stamp of approval on our boy Nate. Before this, I really didn't see her playing favorites. Also, Moira is one of those girls that hits a boy to show that she likes them.

* * *

Highever in spring was one of Nathaniel's favorite times of the year. Flowers dotted the countryside, covering the sides of the roads in blankets of color. Amaranthine was similarly beautiful, which made for a pleasant trip both ways on horseback.

The white towers of Castle Cousland were a familiar sight after nine years of traveling from Vigil's Keep to Highever with his family. This trip was different, seeing that it marked the first time Nathaniel had made the visit alone. The spring festival in Amaranthine had fallen on the same day as the one in Highever; his parents' attendance was needed in the city, so Nathaniel was sent to act as a family representative. His mother had felt that Delilah and Thomas were still too young to travel by themselves, but at seventeen, Nathaniel was of age to start taking on more responsibilities when it came to running an arling. He'd have three more years at home before leaving to squire in the Free Marches for at least eight years, and upon his return, he'd assume further duties in order to prepare him when the time came for him to assume the role of Arl of Amaranthine.

He dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to the stable boy with a quiet word of thanks. Shouldering his pack, he gave his traveling cloak a cursory brush-off and ran a hand over his hair out of habit. Servants were running in and out of the castle with supplies for tomorrow's festivities, so to keep out of everyone's way, Nathaniel decided to take the back path into the castle that ran next to the garrison. The recognizable sound of metal swords clanging together hit his ears, and he would have continued on his way had he not heard a feminine voice cry out.

"Oof! Did you have to hand my ass to me that hard, Rory?" Out of curiosity, Nathaniel pivoted on his heel and entered the training area where he saw Roland Gilmore standing in front of someone sprawled on the ground. Gilmore was a year older than Nathaniel and was only a few months away from taking his vows to become a knight of Highever. The woman must have been a new recruit; Nathaniel couldn't recall Teyrn Bryce ever having a woman in his guards before.

Gilmore laughed. "But you make it so easy," he said, extending his hand to help the lady. Nathaniel stopped in his tracks when he saw that it was Moira who Gilmore was pulling to her feet, her hair put up in a messy bun at the back of her head and her cheeks flushed from exertion.

"You don't have to be so smug," she said, giving him a playful shove, her lips set in a grin. "I always wind up with bruises in strange places after our sparring matches."

"Then learn to move faster, my lady."

_This_ was _not_ the girl Nathaniel had last seen a year ago. He could clearly recall that Moira had been all gangly arms and elbows while constantly complaining of being even more awkward than usual. The young woman standing a few feet away from him was slender and athletic looking in her lightweight training gear. She wore tightly fitting leggings underneath the strips of leather that made out the skirt of her armor – and when did Moira go and develop _legs_, Nathaniel numbly wondered – but the smile was the same.

That smile grew even bigger whenever she finally spotted him. "Nathaniel!" she shouted, running towards him with her arms outstretched. "I thought you would arrive tomorrow!" Even her welcome hug was slightly different than what Nathaniel was used to. Moira wrapped her arms around his shoulders, forcing Nathaniel's arms to go about her waist, her forward momentum spinning them around in a half circle.

"I made good time," he mumbled against her hair, still struck dumb at the thought that his friend had seemingly transformed into a _girl_ in the short span of a year.

She broke from his embrace and grabbed his hand. "Does anyone else know that you're here?" She didn't wait for his answer; with one last wave to Gilmore, she pulled him along the path towards the castle. Once they were closer to the exterior gardens, she slowed her pace. "I've missed you, Nate," she said, ducking her head to the side and clasping her hands behind her back. Nathaniel couldn't tell if her cheeks were still pink from her sparring session or from something else, but he had to admit that the rosy glow looked pretty on her.

"I've missed you too," he replied. He _had_ missed her. It wasn't as if their families got together at every opportunity, but the letters they exchanged were poor substitutes for speaking face to face. "How is Fergus?"

Moira shrugged. "Fergus is…well, he's Fergus. Papa's been having my brother shadow him more often now in hope that he'll begin to understand what it means to be a Teyrn."

"That's what I've been doing as well," Nathaniel said. "Father sent me here to act as an emissary for Amaranthine."

"Then I trust that you have the arling's tax collection reports?"

He arched an eyebrow. "How do you know about those?"

She grinned and stood up straighter. "Fergus isn't the only one that's shadowing Papa. I _want_ to learn how things are run."

Nathaniel smiled back, bumping her shoulder companionably with his. "What? Learning to be the proper wife is too boring for you?" he teased, knowing that it would get a rise out of her.

Moira rolled her eyes. "Maker, if I'm ever saddled with a man that's content to have a wife simper and cater to his every whim, I don't know what I'd do."

Her expression made him laugh out loud. "Somehow, I don't see that being a problem for you, Moira."

* * *

They found Moira's parents in the Teyrn's study. "Look who I found sneaking about," Moira said, holding onto Nathaniel's hand. "Can we keep him, or shall we turn him out on his ear?"

"Nathaniel, it's good to see you, lad," Teyrn Bryce said, standing up from his desk.

"It is good to see you again as well, my lord," Nathaniel replied, clasping the Teyrn's offered hand. "My family sends their regards and regrets that they couldn't be here for the spring festival this year."

Bryce patted Nathaniel's shoulder with his free hand. "It couldn't be helped, but we're pleased to have you here as our guest."

Nathaniel turned towards Teyrna Eleanor. "My lady."

"Welcome, my dear," she told him, holding onto his hands as she gave him a motherly embrace. "My, you've grown since the last time we've seen you. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you and Fergus were competing to see who will end up tallest." She gave him a final squeeze before letting him go, noting that he embraced her just as hard. Her heart had always gone out to the Howe children over the years, watching as they cautiously ate up any scrap of physical affection given to them by others, almost as if they were starved for it at home. Delilah and Thomas were pleasant to be around, but truthfully, Nathaniel had always been her favorite of the three.

"Where is Fergus?" Moira asked, going over to the window that overlooked the path towards Highever.

"He's in town, more than likely flirting with all the pretty girls instead of helping with festivities like I told him to," Eleanor said. "I'd ask the two of you to go hunting for him, but I'm not letting you leave our home dressed like that."

Moira worried her bottom lip, the move causing Nathaniel to discover that Moira had rather full lips – and since _when_ did he ever pay any attention to her mouth in _that_ fashion? "If you can wait a few moments Nate, I can go make myself more presentable so my mother doesn't die from embarrassment when we head into town."

Eleanor rolled her eyes and gave a tiny smile. "Impertinent child." She reached out and ran her hand fondly over her daughter's cheek. "Come, Nathaniel. You must tell us what you've been up to. Surely you've stolen the hearts of several young ladies by now."

Moira laughed as she danced out the room. "Oh Mama," she said. "Why must you bring up the good gossip when you know I won't be around to listen?"

* * *

Nathaniel had only spent a while with the Couslands before going to his usual guest room. He and Fergus had stopped sharing a room several years ago and it never failed that he was put into the room closest to the family wing of the castle. He was in the middle of unpacking his satchel when he heard a knock at the door.

"I figured that you'd be here," Moira said, opening the door enough so that she could slip into the room. Nathaniel blinked. Surely he'd seen Moira in dresses plenty of times over the past nine years, but just then it was like he'd never truly _seen_ her in a dress before. The bright red fabric brought attention to her pale skin; he wondered when her tan had faded, for it seemed as if he'd never seen her without a scattering of sun-bleached freckles across her nose. The color also brought out her dark hair, which was now flowing freely down her back. "Nate?"

He blinked again, realizing that he was staring. The leather training armor had hidden the curves that Moira's dress now showed off. Nathaniel's eyes seemed to wander down to her breasts - _breasts_, for Andraste's sake! – on their own accord. His mind briefly flitted back to the time several years ago when Fergus had teased his little sister about being as flat as a board when other girls her age were starting to fill out. There was no way that anyone could tease her about that problem now. "What?"

She smiled at him. "Am I presentable enough?" she asked, slowly turning around in a circle for his inspection.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "You'll do," he said, just to irritate her. Grinning, he held out his arm. "Come now, my lady. Let us be off to see what damage your brother has done to the female population."

* * *

"Well?"

Nathaniel looked at her. "Well what?" The walk from the castle to the city was a pleasant trip. The afternoon was warm, but the breeze that made the branches of the trees lining the road sway was cool. They'd been switching from all sorts of topics as soon as they had set out, seemingly making up for the time lost between visits. Moira had done most of the talking as usual, but Nathaniel was content to walk beside her and listen. Somewhere between the ages of twelve and fourteen, Moira had finally listened to her mother's lectures and had begun to speak in a softer, gentler tone of voice than she normally did. At fifteen, it seemed as if it had become habit; she still spoke with as much enthusiasm as ever, punctuating her words with hand gestures, but Nathaniel found her voice to be soothing to his ears.

The thought made his feet slow down. It was almost as if a thief had apprehended his friend when he hadn't been looking and replaced her with a slightly different version, one that he was rapidly coming to see as someone rather attractive.

The slight punch on his arm shook him out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" he asked, rubbing his bicep and giving her his full attention.

She tilted her head. "You've been awfully distracted today, Nate. Are you sure that you're up for this? We could go back so that you can get some rest. I know the ride from Amaranthine probably took a lot out of you."

"No, it's all right. I just have a lot of things on my mind." Like, for instance, the way that her cheek curved or how the sunlight created shadows at her collarbone or even the way that she had taken to wearing earrings. He wondered how many other normal, everyday details about her would suddenly pop up and strike him as things that he'd never truly noticed before the day was out. "What was it?"

She clasped her hands behind her back. "I was asking you about Amaranthine." Her cheeks reddened slightly and she looked down at the path. "And I was wondering just how many girls there you've decided to make fall in love with you."

His step faltered again. "None that I'm aware of," he said slowly, wondering where this conversation was going to head off to. "I've been too busy at the Keep to dally about."

"What? You're not courting anyone?"

"No."

Her blush grew even redder and she suddenly found the trees next to them incredibly interesting. "Whoever you do decide to court will be a lucky girl."

He shrugged. "Becoming the Arlessa of Amaranthine is something to aspire to, I guess."

She frowned. "That wasn't what I meant."

He arched his eyebrow. "Well, what else would I have to offer?"

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd say that you were fishing for compliments." Her eyes widened when she glanced at his blank look. "Oh, surely you know that you're handsome, Nate."

"I…" He didn't really know how to answer that. He'd often been told that he favored his father, who was better described as _distinctive_ instead of handsome. He regarded her, taking in the way that even the tips of her ears had reddened and how she wouldn't quite meet his gaze. "Are you saying that _you_ find me handsome, milady chatterbox?" He meant for his words to come out as a joke, but he was curious to find out what she thought.

Moira huffed. "I might have said yes, but then you had to go and tease me so." She took a breath and lengthened her stride, moving ahead of him. Nathaniel watched in confusion as her left hand went up to her face, almost as if she was wiping a tear away.

He caught up to her in a matter of seconds. "Moira," he said, reaching out and capturing her wrist in his hand. He tugged until she stopped walking, even though she refused to turn towards him. "Forgive me. I've hurt your feelings without realizing it," he told her.

She sniffed, which she often did when she was angry. "Well, you can't help it that you are just a silly boy, even if you're a nice looking one," she said, turning her head so he caught a slice of her profile. Her blush had faded and he could see that she hadn't been crying, but it looked as if she had been close to doing so.

Stepping closer to her, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, never for a moment thinking that it was odd for them to be embracing in the middle of a fairly well-traveled road. "That I am. The silly part, mind you. I'm not quite too sure on the nice looking portion," he agreed, just to see her roll her eyes.

"_Nathaniel,_" she sighed, leaning back against his chest. "I guess it's a good thing that you're not all caught up with yourself like Fergus is. I was so afraid that the two of your egos put together would wreck all sorts of havoc."

He chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You have nothing to worry about on that mark," he assured her. He took a tentative sniff when he caught an unfamiliar trace of lavender waft up from her skin, wondering when Moira began to bother with perfumes. He found that he rather liked the scent on her. His mind began to do a few calculations. In another few months Moira would be sixteen and become formally available for courtship and betrothal, meaning that other Bann's sons would have a chance at wooing her. Nathaniel knew that she valued him as a friend and after their most recent conversation – and had they just had their first fight? - he was slowly coming to realize that she might see him as something more. The shock of finding her all grown up had finally worn off and Nathaniel decided to be honest with himself. He _liked_ Moira. He figured that he had felt that way about her for some time, but it had taken seeing her as a young lady instead of his tomboy friend with skinned knees for him to sort out his feelings.

"Let Fergus have all the girls' attention," he told her, dropping his arms from around her. "I'd rather spend my time with you." Before he moved away, he punctuated his declaration with a chaste kiss to her cheek. Moira had been the one to start up that habit when they had been children and now it had become something that the two of them did without thinking.

Moira held herself very still, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. After a while, she let out a breath she wasn't aware that she had been holding. "Let's get to Highever," she said, feeling her cheeks blaze yet again.

Nathaniel inwardly cursed his ill-timing. "Of course," he replied, falling back into step with her. He kept his eyes to the road, but turned his head when Moira lightly punched his shoulder.

"I'll race you!" She gathered her skirts up in her hands so that she wouldn't trip over them. Now that her dress was hiked up above her knees, Nathaniel saw that she was wearing a pair of breeches and well worn boots underneath. He watched as she ran ahead of him, her hair streaming out behind her. She looked over her shoulder and Nathaniel could have sworn that she had winked at him.

Huh. Perhaps his timing wasn't as off as he thought it had been. He let her get a decent enough head start before running after her, listening to her trailing laughter and letting out an answering whoop of his own.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 5  
Rating: G for the most part, but just to be safe, I'll give it a _very_ light PG rating.  
Summary: Book club discussions never turned out quite like this before.

* * *

For once, Nathaniel was grateful that he was too tired to join Fergus and the Teyrn as they performed their duties. He'd made good time only because he'd spent the better part of the night traveling, resting only when he felt that his horse needed to. There was something in the air that had made him want to avoid setting up camp; he'd heard of reports of darkspawn in the southernmost reaches of Ferelden, but it had felt as if _something _had been watching him along the road. The something might have merely been his imagination getting the best of him, or it could have been bandits waiting for the right time to strike. It never hurt to err on the side of caution, which was why he had ridden with his horse's reins tucked in one hand while he held onto the hilt of his sword with the other.

The good news was that he had made it to Castle Cousland well before dawn. The bad news was that the sleepless night and all the activities from the previous day had finally caught up with him. He could vaguely remember being guided to the guest room by a servant before falling face down onto the thick coverlet. He could slightly recall being woken up by Fergus later on, his friend saying something about joining him and his father as they went to inspect the farmlands surrounding the area. He had mumbled something, but then had promptly fallen back to sleep.

The loud crack of thunder that shook the glass in the windows made Nathaniel's eyes snap open. He groggily sat up, unclipping his travelling cloak and draping it across the foot of the bed. Stretching, he saw that the maid staff had come in while he was sleeping and had drawn a bath. It must not have been too long ago because the water was still slightly steaming. Stripping out of his clothes, he neatly folded them up and left them on top of a nearby trunk. He quickly bathed and dressed in clean clothing from his pack before slipping out of the room, his grumbling stomach leading him towards the kitchens. He and Fergus had been running in and out of the place so often in their youth that none of the kitchen staff thought it was odd for a young man of eighteen to be wandering about. Nan, the Cousland children's old nanny, had been appointed head cook once her duties ad governess weren't needed any longer. She'd always had a kind thing to say to Nathaniel, and even now, she ushered him onto a stool near the cutting boards and presented him with a plate full of meat and potato filled pastries that she knew were his favorite as well as a handful of spiced cookies she was famous for. He ate the pastries while filling her in with Amaranthine's goings-on – Nan had a weak spot for gossip and she had sat with her elbows on the table, eating up the news of the brewer's son getting caught canoodling with the weaver's eldest daughter.

Nathaniel left the kitchens with cookies in hand, leaving Nan giggling like a young girl when he had leaned over and taken her hand, pressing a kiss over her knuckles in thanks for breakfast and keeping him company. He'd grinned widely as she shooed him out, closing his eyes in appreciation as the first taste of cinnamon hit his tongue.

The rain was coming down in earnest now. He shielded his head as he darted from an open area to an enclosed walkway. _Poor Fergus,_ he thought. _He and his father are probably stuck somewhere in the middle of nowhere._ He made his way upstairs, wondering why he hadn't seen Moira yet. It was far too cloudy to try and make out what time it was by the sun's position in the sky alone, but he knew that it was at least mid-morning. Moira was an early bird out of habit, but given the choice, she would rather sleep the day away. The first knock on her bedroom door revealed an empty room, the bedclothes still rumpled and her nightgown left hanging on the edge of the silk changing screen in the corner. Frowning, he had backed out and closed her door, wondering just where she might have gone.

He had time to contemplate his feelings for Moira as he meandered down hallways that had become his second home of sorts. He'd had time to contemplate his feelings for Moira for a little over a year after realizing that he even _had_ feelings for her. Since last year's spring festival, he'd only seen her twice; once when she and her family had visited Amaranthine and again when she'd been formally presented to Court in Denerim once she turned sixteen. He grimaced at the memory. There had been a ball, which had meant dancing, which was something that Nathaniel was _terrible_ at doing, especially in front of an audience. He had held his own with the slower, more gliding group dances where it was simple enough to follow the leader, but he was wretched when it came to waltzes. Moira had been stunning that night, dressed in a flowing midnight blue gown with summer flowers woven in her hair. He'd thought that she had been the loveliest girl there and had been proud when she had asked him to be her escort for the evening. That pride quickly turned to embarrassment when he had stepped on her toes several times during their waltz. Moira, bless her, hadn't complained, but he had seen the miniscule way that her mouth had tightened that told him she was holding in how much his clumsy feet had hurt her. That had been the first and only dance they had shared together that evening, Nathaniel keeping to the edges of the ballroom, watching as she gracefully moved over the dance floor with other partners for the rest of the evening. It never failed though that she would find him out between dances, sitting at his side while sipping water and whispering commentary on the other young men in the room. Her observations had made him smile as well as relieve some of the anxiety that she would find any of them to her liking.

She'd been on the peripheral edges of his mind ever since. He couldn't pass the Keep's kitchen gardens and its lavender plants without thinking of her, and he often found himself daydreaming about the way her cheeks would go rosy when he gave her a compliment or when he turned after feeling someone watching only to realize that she had been staring at him. He contemplated how it would be if he did formally court her. He'd overheard several mothers talking that night at the ball speculating about the two of them and if they were already a pair. They might have grown up together, but what he felt for her was miles away from the brotherly concern of their youth. Moira knew him better than anyone else and he liked to think that he knew her mind as well as she knew his.

He took a deep breath, brushing off cookie crumbs from his tunic before heading into the Teyrn's private library. Teyrn Bryce had discovered Nathaniel's love for books long ago and had informed him that his private collection was free for perusal. Nathaniel had found a wealth of information within that room, from the practical, heavy tomes of government rules and regulations to the whimsical tales of fancy that he had often found himself drawn to.

Nathaniel was so preoccupied with deciding what he was in the mood to read that he didn't see the door handle move in time. His reflexes belatedly kicked in, saving him from getting hit in the face with the door.

"Nate!" Moira was standing wide-eyed on the other side of the door, a book cradled in one arm and her hand on the handle.

"I've been looking for you," Nathaniel said, rubbing his shoulder where the edge of the door had clipped him. "I didn't think I'd literally bump into you here."

She winced. "Did I hit you terribly hard?" Moira reached out and touched his arm.

He shrugged. "Nothing I haven't felt before."

She arched her eyebrow. "What? Girls hitting you with doors are a reoccurring thing in Amaranthine?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "I meant that I've been hit by harder blows during training sessions." He stepped out of the way and opened the door completely. "It's good to see you again, my lady."

Moira blushed and smiled. "It's good to see you again as well." She stepped closer to him and gave him a hug. Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her, noting the way that the dark blue velvet of her gown felt under his fingers and how she smelled of citrus instead of the lavender he had been expecting. He also noted how their embrace lingered and how it seemed that she was reluctant to break it, her hands sliding over his shoulders as he stepped away first. "You were sleeping so soundly that I hadn't wanted to wake you earlier."

"You were in my room?"

She seemed to be at a loss for words. "Well," she finally stammered. "One has to practice their stealth _somehow_. You're the lightest sleeper I know; you must have really been tired if you didn't sense me there." She cocked her head to the side and put a hand to her hip. "And just when did you arrive, Nathaniel Howe?"

"Early." He guided them back into the room. "I could hear you snoring from three doors away."

She made an affronted sound at the back of her throat. "I do not snore!" she said, mock angrily. "Although I can't say the same for you. You make the cutest snuffling noises when you sleep." She wrinkled her nose as she said it, knowing that it would irritate him.

She'd never admit it to anyone, but Moira found Nathaniel at his handsomest when he frowned. There was something about the serious expression that made him more attractive to her than anything else.

His eyebrow winged up and he leveled her with a glare. "I am not cute," he told her, his tone saying that he expected no argument out of her. Of course, this was Moira he was talking to. She lived to debate with him.

"I think otherwise," she said, sitting down on the settee next to him. "I find you adorable." She punctuated her statement with a familiar bump of her shoulder to his.

_And this is where you can leave things as they are or test the waters, Howe,_ Nathaniel thought. "As long as you find me, my lady," he said, getting up and going towards the window. "Dreadful weather we're having, isn't it?"

Moira floundered for a second, thrown by the change of topic. Before he had gotten up, she was almost certain that he had snuck a glimpse down her bodice. _No, this is Nate we're talking about. If there was a definition for Gentleman written somewhere, his picture would be right next to it._ "Yes, it's absolutely awful," she replied, staring at his back in confusion. Since _when_ did Nathaniel ever speak to her in that tone, his voice deepening to a husky rumble that made her heart do flips in her chest and set the hair at the back of her neck on end. "I thought to use the weather as an excuse to curl up with a good book."

"That's what I was going to do, at least until your father and brother come back. I still need to give your father the arling's numbers for the harvest. This year was a favorable one for wheat and corn; I suspect that our stores will be well stocked for the coming winter."

"That's good to hear," she told him, smoothing out a wrinkle on her skirts. "Our granaries have fared similarly; this winter will be a good one even if there is a threat of snow." She stared at a bit of lint by her knee, wondering why they were talking about the weather. "What book were you looking for?"

Nathaniel shrugged, turning from the window. "I don't know. I was hoping that the Tale of Ser William was available, but I see that I'm going to have to pick something else."

Moira stared at the book in her hands. "It's one of my favorites."

"Mine too." He sat back down beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was nearly a full head taller than she was which made his shoulder a convenient resting spot and yet made conversation with him while she was sitting and he standing difficult. She found that she often had to crane her neck in order to look him in the eye. "Ser William had quite an adventure, what with fighting dragons and defeating pirates."

"Not to mention saving princesses." The book was nothing that would be described as a literary masterpiece, but it had been one of Moira's favorites due to the description of the title's hero and his romance with the princess who had been captured by a dragon.

"Ah, yes. Ser William was the typical warrior type on that part."

She looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he just barged in, sword flashing all dramatically, and took the dragon on headfirst. Not the wisest of moves, but something that I've noted those of warrior mentality taking."

"Oh? And what would you do differently?"

"For one, I would have scouted out the area beforehand. Ser William completely overlooked the secret side entrance to the cave and probably would have saved himself a lot of headaches if he had detected the traps the dragon had set out, like any good rogue would have done."

She smiled. "And I suspect that he would have snuck by as silent as a shadow while the dragon was sleeping and picked the lock to the princess' cage, stealing her away before the dragon had a chance to realize what had happened?"

"Is there any other way? And of course, he probably would have poisoned the dragon's food supply just for good measure."

Moira sighed. "That poor princess. You just robbed her of the flashy rescue and the scene where she bandaged up her hero after he defeated the villain."

Nathaniel shrugged. "What? Would you rather your knight in shining armor be damaged when you finally get to kiss him? I thought you _liked_ rogues."

"I do. It's just that his whole 'running into danger because my love is trapped' was quite romantic."

He hooked an arm over the back of the settee. "All right, milady critic. Tell me, how would you like your hero to act should you be the one kidnapped by a dragon?"

She let out a bubble of laughter. "Oh come on Nate. You know that dragons don't capture people. They just eat them on the spot."

"Humor me. Suspend your sense of disbelief for a moment."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "All right, so in practice the warrior rescue does sound a bit foolhardy. I'll admit it; I'd rather have a rogue rescue me from the clutches of evil." She glanced sideways at Nathaniel. He'd already proven that he was more rogue than warrior. There were times that he would sneak up on her soundlessly, startling her until she had begun to work on her own stealth skills. Now he had to work extra hard to catch her unaware. Letting her imagination get the best of her, she pictured herself in Princess Daphne's position, finding the love of her life lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to creep up and silently pick the lock that kept her from freedom. He'd press his fingers to his lips to signal that she needed to be quiet as they made their way out the cave, not once disturbing the dragon.

For the first time, Ser William's chiseled, classically handsome face was replaced in her mind's eye with Nathaniel's. "And I guess that I would have to make up for not tenderly bandaging his wounds after his epic battle by being especially thorough when I kiss him as a reward for rescuing me."

He looked down at her and this time, she was _certain_ that he looked down her bodice. "Thorough, you say?"

"Absolutely." She peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes, a trick that she'd often seen her mother apply to her father whenever she wanted him to agree with something. Just as she thought, the way she looked up at Nathaniel made his eyes darken, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Her heart sped up just a bit faster when he leaned closer to her.

"There's one thing that you didn't take for account," he said, his voice doing that husky timbre again that had her toes curling in her slippers.

"Oh? What would that be?" She couldn't help but notice that her voice had a breathless quality to it.

"If it were you that had been captured, you wouldn't have needed a rescue. You're the type to slay your own dragons."

"Well," she said, wondering when his face had gotten so close. Her glance went from his eyes down to his mouth, then back up again. "Just because I can take care of myself doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the occasional rescue like any other girl."

"I'll make a note of that," he murmured before ducking his head and brushing his lips over hers. Moira's eyes fluttered closed as the pressure of his mouth grew more confident, one of his hands going to her cheek to guide her face up into an angle that deepened their kiss. He tasted of ginger and spices and smelled like soap and leather, the combination making her head spin pleasantly. "If you slap me," he said slowly, his lips still brushing hers, "then it was completely worth it."

She reached out and framed his face with her hands. "And why should I slap you for giving me the best kiss I've ever received?"

He arched his eyebrow again. "The best? Not the first?"

She laughed. "Sorry, but you were beat out a few years ago. And no," she said, tracing his lips with a finger when he frowned. "I'm not telling you who it was. If it makes you feel any better, you managed to blow that kiss right out of the water."

He smirked, turning his head so he could plant a kiss against her palm. "Good," he said. "Because I intend on doing that again."

"Hmm, if I'm not mistaken, that sounds like a headlong approach if I've ever heard one." She threaded her fingers in his hair, gently tugging him closer. "Best be careful, or else my rogue might just turn out to be a warrior in disguise."

"Quiet, you," he told her, his mouth set in a soft smile that made her breath catch. She had been wrong; _this_ expression, this before unseen way he was looking at her now, made him more handsome than any frown ever could. He kissed her again and her arms went about his shoulders, drawing him even closer than he already was. She sighed against his lips, savoring the way that his hands tentatively settled on her waist before sliding up and around to her back. _Let Daphne have her knight,_ Moira hazily thought, losing herself in the new way their relationship had just turned. _I'd pick Nate over William any day._

Neither one of them noticed when the book they had been discussing slid from Moira's lap, falling to the floor with a muted thud.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 6  
Rating: PG for teenaged romantical shenanigans  
Summary: The Howes host a party. Bonding with potential sister-in-laws while primping and declarations of feelings ensue.  
Note the Second: This can act as a filler for Chapter 10 of _A Rush to the Start_'s text: _Moira had a memory of the two of them sneaking away to this very room from some party or another his parents had hosted once. No one had thought to look for them and they had spent the evening curled up together on the window seat sharing tentative kisses and whispered promises of young love._"Thank you for helping," Delilah said, leaning forward to paint a thin line of kohl on her eyes. "I don't think I could have gotten ready in half the time."

* * *

Moira smiled, making sure that the gold and ruby comb was holding her friend's hair securely in place. The comb wasn't anything that Delilah would have normally worn; it was on loan from her mother's jewelry case. The Howes were hosting their yearly ball for the nobility in Amaranthine and Delilah's parents were using the opportunity to give their daughter an early debut into society. Moira's family had been invited, probably because Delilah had asked for her to come for moral support more than the fact that Moira's father was Teyrn. Moira had instantly agreed; she had grown fond of Delilah over the span of eleven years that they known the other, but also because it meant that she'd have an opportunity to be with Nathaniel. The two of them had been seeing the other for the better part of a year now, exchanging letters and spending as much time together as they possibly could. It meant that Nathaniel was a more frequent guest in Highever than usual, even with the two day trip that it took to travel from his home. He normally made the journey in less, but Moira could tell that it exhausted him, even when he did his best to try to hide how tired he was from her.

"It was my pleasure," she said, sitting at the bench next to Delilah so that she could begin applying her own cosmetics. She had never been too fond of the heavier trends that were popular amongst other girls in her age group, choosing to use only the barest hint of color at her eyes and a fine dusting of rouge on her cheeks. "You look gorgeous tonight."

Delilah's mouth curved up into a pleased smile. "Do you really think so?"

Moira gave her a critical look. The bright red and gold of Delilah's dress dramatically set off her pale skin and jet black hair, which was set into a sweeping riot of curls at the back of her head. Moira had always been slightly envious of the swanlike, graceful way that Delilah had, especially since it came to the younger girl so effortlessly. "I think you might have several admirers before the night is out."

Delilah twisted her hands in her lap. "Maker, I'm nervous. What if I bumble something? What if I embarrass myself in front of boys?"

Moira set her pot of lip stain down and took Delilah's hands in hers. "That isn't possible. You are the most gracious, charming, elegant person I know. If anyone is going to bumble anything, it will more than likely be me." Where things came so naturally to Delilah, Moira had to constantly remind herself to speak in gentle tones and to keep her tongue still when in conversations where the opinion of a female wasn't appreciated. While she wasn't really concerned with how others would perceive her, the two people that she _was_ worried about were the hosts themselves. Arl Rendon had never given her an unkind word; in fact, he had always treated her as if she were a part of the family. Arlessa Regina, on the other hand…

While the Arlessa never said it out loud, Moira knew that she did not approve of many things that Moira did or said. It would be in Moira's best interests if she could gain the approval of the Arlessa, especially since there was a strong chance that she would be her mother-in-law in the distant future.

That thought made Moira's heart beat just a little faster. While she and Nathaniel had become romantically involved, they hadn't made their relationship public just yet. Nathaniel had felt that it wasn't right to do so when he was going to be leaving in another year, and Moira hadn't wanted to ruin the time they had left together by arguing. She still thought that it was a dumb decision, especially since it would mean having to turn down potential suitors who were already starting to call upon her. What really didn't sit well with her was the fact that she would have to lie to her parents. She'd never had a reason to do it before and even though there was a certain thrill to sneaking around and stealing kisses, it still felt wrong to hide how she felt. She agreed to keeping things quiet for now, but once Nathaniel was back from the Free Marches, things were certainly going to change.

"Speaking of suitors," Delilah said, leaning closer to the dressing table mirror to check and see that she hadn't gotten any lip stain on her teeth, "there will be several looking your way tonight, I wager."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Moira had anticipated something like that happening. This was supposed to be Delilah's night, which was why Moira had chosen to wear an outfit that would blend in with the surroundings. The wide neckline of her dress was modest - only exposing the very tops of her shoulders and line of her collarbone - in comparison to some of the other styles she'd seen in the dressmaker's shop window back home. The gown was simple in design; the tightly fitting long sleeves were perfect for the winter weather and the flowers embroidered in silvery thread at the neck and hemlines created a subtle detail. The only thing that broke up the sea of grey-blue fabric was a thin silver belt that settled across her hips. Like her dress, she'd decided to go simple and twist her hair into a chignon, securing the style with two ivory hair sticks, one of which that had a small cluster of pearls hanging from the end.

The only minus that she had to the entire outfit was the corset she was forced to wear underneath in order to gain the proper silhouette for the way the gown was cut. The binding garment gave the illusion that her waistline was several inches slimmer than it actually was and made her bust line even more pronounced. It also made breathing challenging and had a way of making Moira's torso lose all feeling after being constricted for several hours. She was already looking forward to the end of the party so she could get the contraption off.

"I don't think you'll have to worry much about them," Delilah said with a sly smile. "Nathaniel will more than likely run them off out of pure jealousy."

Moira paused in dabbing a bit of lavender scented oil behind her ear. "What?"

"Oh, surely you must know how my brother feels about you. The look alone that he often gives you when he thinks no one is watching should speak of how much he adores you."

Very carefully, she set the perfume bottle down. "I…" _How do I reply to that?_

Delilah's teasing expression fell. "Oh no, I shouldn't have said anything. You don't share Nathaniel's affections, do you?"

Moira shook her head. "It isn't that. You just took me by surprise." She worried her bottom lip. "Nate is a dear friend of mine; I'm glad that he has deeper feelings for me."

"And what do you think about him?" The tone had gone from playful friend to protective little sister.

Moira took a breath. "I won't lie to you; I care for your brother a great deal. I've had feelings for him since I was about ten. It makes me incredibly happy to know that he might feel the same way for me." _That_ was the truth, and it made her feel better when Delilah reached out and embraced her.

"I've always thought of you as an older sister," Delilah confessed. "Just think; one day that might actually happen!"

She laughed. "I can only hope so!"

"Moira Howe," Delilah mused. "It has a nice ring to it."

Moira fussed over an errant curl that had escaped her friend's comb. "I think so too."

* * *

While Nathaniel didn't mind parties, he didn't necessarily care for the amount of attention that was put on him when his parents hosted one. He disliked all the scraping and bowing that certain nobles did, even when they knew that he wasn't the one that held any power in the room. Bann Esmerelle was the worst of the lot; she had been constantly urging him to dance with her daughter for the better part of the evening. She had been subtle about it at first, but after the dinner tables had been cleared off the main floor of the Keep's Great Hall, her requests had become slightly more demanding.

"Just take a turn around the floor with her for a single song, Nathaniel," his father had finally said once Esmerelle had decided it was better to go bother someone that had the most influence over him. "After that, I don't care what you do the rest of the evening."

_That_ had made the painfully awkward dance worthwhile. Nathaniel thought that _he_ was inept on the dance floor, but he was nothing compared to Esmerelle's daughter. He barely escaped with his feet intact, bowing graciously over her hand once the musicians had stopped playing and waving away her stammered apologies for the way the pointed toes of her shoes had stepped over his.

"My lady," Fergus said, stepping in beside Nathaniel when another girl looked at him expectantly. "If I could have the honor of this dance." Nathaniel's friend leaned closer to him, murmuring something for his ears alone. "There, I've rescued you for a little while. Now go return the favor and save my sister before she pulls her hair out from sheer boredom."

Nathaniel scanned the room, finally finding Moira speaking with one of the lesser lord's sons. Her stance was polite and she was looking at the young man pleasantly, but Nathaniel caught her eye and could plainly tell she wanted an excuse to exit the conversation.

"Pardon me, Temmerly," Nathaniel said once he got to their side. "I'm afraid that I might have to steal lady Cousland away for a while." He held out his hand, which Moira gratefully took.

"Thank you," she breathed, walking with him as they neared the dance floor. The musicians were playing a group dance that Nathaniel felt somewhat confidant in and the two of them easily blended in with the rest of the dancers already on the floor.

"I wanted to speak with you all evening," he told her, carefully turning in time with the rest of the group, his right hand tucked behind his back and his left lightly holding Moira's hand above their heads.

Moira smiled. "I've wanted to speak to you as well." They hadn't had much of a chance to be alone; Moira had been sucked into the circle of girls along with Delilah and Nathaniel had been busy trying and failing to avoid conversation with several of the Bann's sons. They'd shared longing glances across the Hall, but this was the first opportunity that they'd been able to talk. They finished the dance and Nathaniel bowed lower over her hand than he had with Esmerelle's daughter, his lips skimming over Moira's knuckles.

"Do you want to get some air?" he asked, already leading her towards the Hall's side doors.

"Lead the way," she replied, tucking her hand against his arm. She took one last glance out at the scene behind them to see if anyone would notice them leaving. Fergus was his usual charming self, seemingly at home as the center of attention amidst a circle of several young ladies. Nathaniel's parents as well as her own were currently dancing; though it always looked as if Arl Rendon and Arlessa Regina were putting on some sort of show. They might be moving gracefully through the steps and smiling the entire time, but Moira always felt as if their smiles never reached their eyes, as if they'd rather be elsewhere but were there just for appearance's sake. Her mother's laughter brought her attention to her parents and she couldn't help but smile at the completely different way they carried themselves. Her father always had a way of making even the most serious of dances seem fun and the lively waltz they were dancing to was no different. He led her mother in a series of sweeping moves that had Eleanor's skirts swirling at her ankles, his hand holding her close at the small of her back. Unlike the other dancers who had their partner's hand held out to their sides, Bryce had Eleanor's hand tucked close to his heart, his fingers laced with hers. They were both gazing at the other with such naked affection that it made Moira lean against Nathaniel, her heart swelling at the thought that she had found someone to share the same sort of partnership that her parents had found.

Instead of taking her outside, Nathaniel led Moira down a hallway and up a flight of stairs until they reached an informal parlor. The room was dark, but Moira could see that there was a large window that overlooked the Amaranthine Ocean in the distance. Underneath the window was a wide seat covered in green velvet.

"Now that we're alone," Nathaniel said, closing the door behind them and engaging the lock. He took her shoulders in his hands and drew her close to him, his mouth covering hers for a lingering kiss. "Hello."

She grinned against his mouth, her hands sliding over his back. "Hello."

He tightened his hold on her, ducking his head so he could press a trail of kisses across her jaw and down her neck. "I've wanted to do this since I first saw you tonight." Slowly, he backed her up until her calves hit the edge of the window seat. He turned so that he sat first with one leg stretched out along the seat before drawing her down so she could sit between his legs. "Brand was staring at you."

Moira looked away from the window. The sun had set hours ago and Vigil's Keep was illuminated by torchlight outside. "Hmm?"

"Brand. He's been _staring_ all evening." Nathaniel leaned back against the window's wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Isn't he one of Lord Packton's children? The blond one?" She could distantly recall speaking to his sister Liza, but she couldn't remember even having a chance to speak with Liza's brother personally.

"Yes."

Moira turned in her seat and traced his frown with her fingers. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Nate," she said softly, leaning against him so she could press her lips against his cheek. He turned his head, catching her mouth with his as he slowly unfolded his arms so he could place his hands on her waist. "Besides," she told him when he let her up for air, "I think he was staring more at your sister. I've just happened to be next to her for the better part of the evening."

Nathaniel's glower returned. "Delilah is fourteen."

"And she looks as if she should be sixteen. Brand probably doesn't know there's that much of an age difference between them yet." Moira smoothed her hands down his back in a soothing gesture and put her head on his chest. "She looks quite pretty tonight."

He rested his chin against the crown of her head. "Not as pretty as you." Normally, he wasn't one to let jealousy get the better of him, but he was acutely aware of the limited time that he and Moira had together before he left Ferelden for several years. He cared for Moira and knew that in his absence other potential suitors would have an opportunity to win her hand. Logically, he knew that Moira would never turn towards any of them while he was gone, but it was just damned frustrating when he caught all those potential suitors eying I_his/i_ girl. Protocol would have frowned upon him knocking certain young men's teeth out, even if being the son of an Arl meant that he was of the higher station. "You're incredibly beautiful this evening."

She blushed. "Flatterer." Even after a year of hearing similar compliments from him, it never failed that the tone he would say them in would make her breath catch and her pulse flutter. She sat back and caught the way that he was looking at her, his eyes dark and glittering in the moonlight, his mouth set in an easy smile.

"Just speaking the truth," he told her, reaching out to cradle her cheek in his palm. He drew her close for a kiss that he had meant to keep somewhat tame, but then she made a little whimpering noise in the back of her throat and he lost himself in their embrace, his mouth slanting down to kiss her hungrily. He swung his leg down until both of his feet were touching the stone floor and tugged Moira onto his lap where she clung desperately to his arms, her mouth matching his in intensity. Ivory made a clattering noise as her pins fell to the ground, her hair falling in waves down her back, Nathaniel's hands greedily threading through the mass of it.

"Someone is bound to have noticed us missing by now," she gasped, tilting her head to the side as he nipped at the column of her throat.

"Let them notice."

"There will be talk." It was a weak protest at best, mostly because Moira was already gathering up her skirts so she could better straddle his thighs without the material getting in her way. He moaned when she ground her hips against his, his hands going to her waist to guide her better.

"Do you care?" He had no idea how he was still speaking in complete sentences, especially with the scent he always associated with Moira making his head spin.

"Not in the slightest, but…" There was something at the back of her mind, something that reminded her that there was someone that she desperately wanted to impress, but Nathaniel's kisses were rapidly driving the thought of thinned lips set in disapproval away. "But… oh, _Nate_, don't stop."

Nathaniel kissed the bare skin at her shoulder, breathing deep and trying to gather a hold of his control. "If I don't stop, we're going to wind up on the floor." He'd already managed to blindly loosen the first few laces at the back of her dress. "We both deserve better."

She sighed, but slipped off his lap. "You're right," she finally said, bending as best as she could to gather the hair sticks off the floor. "But we can't possibly go back now; we both look a mess." Straightening, she reached out and rubbed off a smear of red from Nathaniel's mouth. "You're wearing more of my lip paint than I am."

He let out a quiet laugh before taking a handkerchief out of his doublet sleeve and rubbing his lips. "Fergus would kill me if he saw us now."

She snorted. "I doubt he even has any idea that we're involved." She loosely pinned her hair out of her face. "Although your sister has caught on."

"What?"

"Delilah's been noticing little details and managed to put two and two together. She asked me what I thought of you."

He quirked an eyebrow in interest and stood up. "And what did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth. I care for you a great deal and I'm pleased that it seems as if you feel the same way for me."

"How did she take it?"

Moira linked her arms around his shoulders. "She's already planning our wedding. Knowing her, she probably has names picked out for our children as well."

He enveloped Moira in a hug. "Do you mind? Not about Delilah knowing about us, but the rest. Marriage and all that."

Moira looked up at him. "No, I don't mind. In fact, I find the idea entirely appealing."

"You'd want to spend the rest of your life with me?" It was strange; Nathaniel knew without a doubt that Moira cared for him, but it still took him by surprise that she would want to bind herself to him so completely.

She tilted her head before framing his face with her hands. "I can't see myself spending my life with anyone else. It's always been you, Nathaniel."

He closed the distance between them. "I love you, Moira," he whispered. He'd never said it out loud before, but once the words had been said he wondered why he hadn't told her how he felt a million times already.

Her lips trembled and happy tears blurred her vision. "I love you too, Nate."

He gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, feeling as if his heart would burst. She led him back to the window seat and they sat with their arms around the other. "Let's just stay here a while," she said, kissing him in a way that stole his breath.

Nathaniel buried his face against the crook of her neck, closing his eyes as he felt her fingers lazily comb through his hair. He'd be content to stay there forever if she asked him to.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 7  
Rating: G  
Summary: Nathaniel talks to Moira's parents. Fergus gets suspicious.  
Note: I was in the middle of a ten mile hike last weekend when this plot bunny hit. It nibbled and now suddenly Rendon has layers that I wasn't aware he had before and the Couslands have become my most favorite parents in the history of ever. Also, if the word "noogie" is not in Ferelden's language, it needs to be. Big brothers need to have something to torment their little sisters with.

Also, also, this can be a filler part for _A Rush to the Start_'s chapter 2 where Nathaniel thinks _He was twenty again,_ _holding her close to his chest with his nose buried in her hair, marveling at how perfectly she fit in his arms and wondering if she would object to him kissing her like he had wanted to since he and his father had arrived in Highever that morning._Nathaniel knew the roads from Amaranthine to Highever by heart. He knew every twist and turn and where the bad patches that needed repairing were as well as the areas that were more suitable for camping. He also knew where in the journey his horse would need a break and where he could push further onward in order to shave a bit of time off his trip. He'd made so many trips to Highever in the past two years by himself that it felt strange to be traveling with anyone else, even when his only other traveling companion happened to be his father. Both of them were quiet by nature, so they hadn't talked much, but they were nearing the woods that surrounded Castle Cousland when Nathaniel broke the easy silence that had settled between them.

* * *

"I've decided that I'm going to ask Teyrn Bryce for Moira's hand today." Saying the words out loud that he'd been pondering about for the past few months made him feel even better, as if some weight on his chest had somehow been lifted.

His father pulled on the reigns of his steed until they were traveling at a slower pace. "Why would you ever want to do such a thing?"

Nathaniel furrowed his brow in confusion. "I thought that this is what you've always wanted. The first time I met her, you asked me to befriend Moira. I have, and now I wish to make her my wife."

Rendon frowned. "I just think that you should keep your options open. You're twenty years old; you have plenty of time to find a suitable wife."

"But I already have. I found Moira."

"And what of Anora? I thought the two of you got along well the last time our families were together."

Nathaniel shook his head. "It's clear to everyone that Prince Cailan is smitten with her. Why should I ever want to come between them?"

Rendon shook his head. "All I am saying is that perhaps Anora would be more suitable for you. Moira is…" he paused as if searching for the right words. "Headstrong. Opinionated. Impulsive. Is this truly someone that you wish to be shackled to for the rest of your life?"

"Shackled? Father, you make marriage sound as if it were a prison sentence." He said it laughingly, but his expression faltered when his father didn't echo his good humor.

"It can be." Rendon sighed and looked at his son. "If this is what you truly want, then I will not stand in your way."

"It _is_ what I want, Father. I love her."

"Bah! What good is that word? _Love,_" he all but spat the word out, his lips twisting as if it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "Love has a way of betraying you when you least expect it, of taking everything that you ever thought was good and turning it against you. Moira is the daughter of a Teyrn. Despite her personality flaws, her political status makes her a decent enough match. If I've ever taught you anything, remember this: marry for power and status, my son. Only fools marry for love." Rendon looked away and Nathaniel had to strain to hear what his father said next. "Love never lasts."

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, Rendon's expression stony and Nathaniel wondering just what had happened that had turned his father so bitter.

* * *

"You're spending a lot of time on your hair, Sister," Fergus teased, coming up beside Moira as they waited in the Great Hall for their guests. "You normally treat it as just something that goes on top of your head."

"And what of it?" Moira asked, patting her hand at the side of her head to make sure that the fishtail braids on either side of her temples were still in place. She'd struggled with the style for the better part of the morning before giving up and asking her mother's maid Lydia for assistance. When she had heard that Nathaniel and his father were visiting for a full week earlier that very day, she had taken care to pick out her clothes and had spent a great deal of time fussing about until she was satisfied that she looked presentable. "I'm a girl; we tend to fixate on things like this."

Fergus rolled his eyes. "I'd say that you were taking care to make sure you looked pretty for our Nathaniel. You're sweet on him, aren't you?"

Moira blushed and shoved her brother. "And what if I am?" she asked him. "Perhaps I wish to practice my feminine wiles on him."

He snorted. "You tried that tactic years ago on poor Roland. Your feminine wiles are defective; I swear it took him a full week to be able to properly look you in the eye after you ambushed him in the stables."

She huffed, her cheeks warming at the thought of Ser Gilmore gawking at her after her failed attempt at a first kiss. "I was twelve at the time. I'm eighteen now; perhaps my skills have improved."

Fergus slung his arm over her shoulder and squeezed. "Huh, you're even wearing _perfume_. You _are_ sweet on him!"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Is that a problem?"

"No, not really. Actually, I think it's quite cute that you have a little crush on Nate. Does he know?"

"He might have a bit of an idea." She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling and giving everything away.

Fergus sobered. "You do know that he's going to be leaving in several months, right? I wouldn't put my hopes too high that anything would come of trying to flirt with him. Knowing Nathaniel, he wouldn't think it would be fair to leave you pining away for nearly a decade while he was gone."

Moira's throat tightened. "I know how long he has left." She didn't want to think of his departure if she didn't have to, but she couldn't deny that the day he would be leaving was looming closer and closer.

"Nathaniel isn't the type of man to have a quick summer fling," her brother warned. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Moira leaned against Fergus' side. Despite all his teasing, Fergus truly did have her best intentions at heart. "I won't, I promise. I know what I'm doing."

Fergus let her go and cracked his knuckles. "So, it looks as if I finally get to pull out the brotherly speech about how if he hurts my little sister I get to cut out his spleen with a spoon."

She laughed. "A spoon? Really?"

"A dull one even."

"Somehow, I don't think you'll have to make good on that threat. We've both known Nate for years; if anything, he's more of a gentleman than you are." She smoothed out her dress when she heard her father come down the hallway, Arl Rendon's voice echoing behind him. "Just promise me that you won't tell Papa yet. If this turns out to be a dismal failure, I don't want anyone besides you to know." Actually, she was hoping that Fergus kept his mouth shut so that she and Nathaniel's cover wouldn't be blown. It never failed that once her brother found out about something, the rest of the castle was soon to follow. Sometimes, she swore he was worse than a woman when it came to gossip.

"My lips are sealed," he promised, crossing his heart with his index finger for good measure. "Now, put on a pretty smile; your potential sweetheart is headed right towards us."

Nathaniel walked a little ways behind his father and looked towards the large chair that sat at the end of the Great Hall. Both Fergus and Moira were standing on either side of it and Nathaniel's heart lifted when he saw the welcoming smile that Moira gave him. He could feel his own lips moving to mimic hers – it never failed; it seemed that when she smiled at him in that manner that it was like standing in a ray of sunlight meant only for him. His eyes glanced over to Fergus, who was giving him an odd look that seemed to be caught between confusion and curiosity.

"Fergus," he said, extending his hand as was their custom. "It's good to see you again."

Fergus grasped Nathaniel's forearm. "It's good to see you again as well. Has it only been a month since your last visit?"

Nathaniel's eyebrow lifted at the extra squeeze Fergus gave his arm as well as the way that Moira's eyes darted over to her brother, her expression one that Nathaniel recognized as a precursor to either a verbal reprimand or a physical blow, depending on her mood. "It seems as if it's been longer," he said carefully, wondering what type of mood Fergus was in.

"It certainly has. How is your family doing?" Moira interjected, giving him their customary embrace that they'd shared since childhood. "We need to talk," she whispered into his ear. She gave his sideburn a surreptitious kiss before drawing away.

"Everyone is well. Delilah sends her regards." He gave her hands a brief squeeze before letting her go.

"Remind me to send you home with a letter I just finished writing her." She tilted her head. "Do you have any business with my father, or are you free for the rest of the day?"

Nathaniel glanced at his father, who was busy speaking to Teyrn Bryce. "No, I was going to drop my pack off in a guest room, but then I don't have anything planned until evening."

"Oh, good. I'll walk you to your usual room then." Moira wound her arm through his, rolling her eyes at the way that Fergus snickered behind their back.

"What's the matter with your brother?" Nathaniel asked once they were in the safety of the gardens.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "He just found out that I have a little crush on you."

"Oh? Just a little one?" His tone was teasing, which made her smile.

"He also just found out that I plan on practicing my feminine wiles on you." _That_ made him laugh out loud, which made her look up at him. "What? You don't believe I can do it?"

"My lady, the day that you gain the power to turn my legs into putty is the day –" He didn't finish his sentence; Moira dragged him into an alcove where she knew that they wouldn't be spotted and before he knew it, she had her hands in his hair, her mouth slanting against his. He groaned as his hands found purchase on the curves of her hips, his back hitting the stone wall with a faint thud. Nathaniel had always been the one to initiate their kisses and it was refreshing to have her be the more aggressive one for a change. Just as he was getting used to the way that she had nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, she gentled their kiss, the tips of her fingers softly tracing the sides of his face. She sighed into his mouth and he trembled - _trembled_ - at the thought that he had found someone like her to spend the rest of his life with.

"You were saying?" she murmured, her breath ghosting across his chin.

He let out a faint chuckle. "Feel free to prove me wrong any time you wish," he said, wrapping his arms around her and burying his nose in her hair.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, her cheek against his chest.

Nathaniel licked his lips and tried to figure out how to say _I've never held anyone who felt more perfect in my arms than you_ without sounding completely foolish. "This little crush of yours that Fergus has recently discovered," he said instead, "does he know that it's reciprocated?" He thought back to the odd look and comments that his friend had just recently given him.

She shook her head. "No. He thinks that it's cute that I've finally taken an interest in you though."

"Well, if he doesn't know now, he's smart enough to quickly figure things out." He tipped her face upwards and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. "For I intend to act precisely how I feel for the duration of my stay."

They walked out of the alcove and out of the gardens. "Oh? And how would that be?"

He lifted her hand off of his arm and brought her knuckles to his lips. He smiled, his expression softening at the way she gazed up at him. "Like a man in love."

* * *

The week had gone by far too quickly and Nathaniel still hadn't mustered up the courage to speak with the Teyrn and Teyrna. Fergus, on the other hand, had cornered him in the middle of the week to finally ask what was going on with him and Moira.

"_What are your intentions towards my sister?"_ he finally asked after one of their sparring sessions. Fergus was casually leaning against the rack that held a wide variety of longswords, but his relaxed posture did nothing to hide the veiled threat in his stance.

"_What do you mean?" _Nathaniel had answered, slowly putting his blade back with the others. He'd been trained in swordsmanship since childhood, but he favored daggers when given a choice between sharp objects to fight with. They just felt right in his hands, just as wielding a bow felt natural to him.

"_Oh, don't play dumb. I've never noticed it before, but the two of you spend a great deal of time together."/i_ Fergus had given him an accusatory look. _"And her hair has been mussed whenever you both finally show back up."_

"_You've found us out. I've been secretly administering noogies behind your back."_

"_Will you be serious? I know my sister hides it, but she has a romantic streak a mile wide. You're older than she and you're about to leave for places more interesting than here, places that Moira's only read about. I'm afraid that she might have gotten it into her head to put you on some sort of pedestal and play the part of the lovesick maiden waiting for you to return to her."_

Nathaniel had frowned. _"Speak plainly. What are you worried about?"_

"_I adore my sister, Nate. The last thing I want is for her to be hurt. Tell me now; do you have any feelings for Moira?"_

He had given Fergus a level stare. _"I guess it's fitting that you know before anyone else in your family, seeing that you're my best friend and everything. I admire Moira. I have for several years now. In fact, I intend on going to your parents and asking for her hand in marriage before the week is over."_

Fergus had visibly slumped as he had taken that bit of information in. _"Oh. Well. But…Moira?"_

"_Is there something wrong with her?" _He had crossed his arms over his chest and given Fergus a look that dared him to say anything negative of Moira in front of him.

"_I just never saw the two of you together romantically."_

"_Fergus, we've been friends for ages. What's so different?"_

"_Well for starters, childhood friends chasing the other about in the woods is far different than a man chasing a woman about in the woods with the intent…"_ he had paused then, glaring at Nathaniel. _"You haven't done _anything_ with my baby sister, have you?"_

"_Trust me; I have the noblest intentions in mind."_ He hadn't been about to explain that while he had thoroughly mapped out Moira's mouth with his own, he was still in the dark as to what color her smallclothes were or if she wore any that were edged in lace or not. _"Besides the obvious shock, do you have any objections to our pairing?"_

"_You truly love her?"_

"_I do."_

Fergus had shaken his head. _"It's just that I always thought you would marry someone…I don't know, more delicate. When you say the word 'ladylike', Moira isn't the first person that comes to mind."_

"_She does like to speak her mind."_

"_And complain. And favor wearing breeches over dresses. Not to mention stabbing things with pointy objects."_

Nathaniel had smiled. _"And I wouldn't have her any other way. I want her just the way that she is; I wouldn't trade her for anyone else."_

"_It's true," _Fergus had said, laughing. _"Love truly does make you insane."_ He had draped his arm over Nathaniel's shoulders, giving him a brotherly squeeze. _"I highly doubt that my parents will have any objections to your proposal, so let me be the first Cousland to welcome you to the family. Moira couldn't have found a better man for a husband if she had tried. When the time comes, I'll be proud to call you brother."_

Nathaniel's breath had gone out in a relieved sigh. _"You don't know how much your opinion eases my mind," _he had said.

"_Don't get me wrong. If you ever cause my sister a moment of grief, I reserve the right to beat you to a pulp."_

"_If I ever cause your sister a moment of grief, I'll _let_ you beat me to a pulp."_

"_Good. I'm glad we're on the same page now."_

"_I do ask that you keep this between us. I might have the best intentions, but I want to ask Moira to marry me once I return. And I wish for it to be a surprise."_

"_Why are you looking at me that way? I can keep a secret."_

He had snorted. _"You keep a secret the way that a sieve holds water. Once you get a bit of information, it slips out of your fingers and everyone within a five foot radius quickly knows about it. Just…keep this under your hat, will you? I want to have a chance to figure out how I'm going to propose to her instead of 'Well, I'm off. Once I get back, the two of us will wed. See you in eight years!' It isn't the most romantic way, you know."_

"_Don't worry,"_ Fergus had assured him with a grin. _"For her, I'll keep my mouth shut. I give no guarantees for my mother though. Knowing her, she'll already have an entire wedding coordinated and ready to go upon your return and be harping about grandchildren while you and Moira exchange vows."_

Nathaniel shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He sighed and eyed his already packed satchel. Twisting the gold ring he wore on his left index finger – a name day gift from his sister years ago – was a nervous habit of his that he couldn't get himself to break, and he gave the ring an exceptionally hard twist before slicking his hands over his hair and straightening his shoulders. Purposely opening his bedroom door, he strode down the hallways, intent on finding Moira's parents.

* * *

As luck would have it, Nathaniel found both Teyrn Bryce and Teyrna Eleanor together in the Teyrna's informal receiving room. Eleanor was sitting at the window with a piece of embroidery in her hands and Bryce was lounging close beside her with a book, a cup of tea at his elbow.

"Ah, what can we do for you, Nathaniel?" Bryce asked, straightening as soon as he saw him.

"Is this a bad time? I have something very important that I would like to speak to the both of you about."

Eleanor put her loom aside. "No, right now is quite all right. You know that our doors are always open for you, my dear."

Nathaniel turned to close the door behind him, completely missing the excited glance that Eleanor gave Bryce or the way that Bryce winked back at his wife. "What can we do for you?" Bryce asked, gesturing for Nathaniel to sit in a nearby chair.

Nathaniel declined the offer, choosing to stand for the meanwhile. "I wanted to speak to you about Moira." Maker, but he was nervous. The carefully planned thoughts that he had figured out on his walk to the sitting room vanished and he was left grasping at straws. "I'm sure that you're aware that we've been friends for over twelve years."

"We are. And I think that it's wonderful that our children have kept in such close contact with you and your siblings," Eleanor said. "Is something the matter?"

"No, everything is fine. I just…" He sighed. "The two of you have always treated me well and I treasure the friendships that I've built with your family and with Moira in particular. I've come to care for her very much, and I have good reason to believe that she feels the same about me."

"And you would like to speak to us about that, correct?" Bryce prompted, leaning forward in his seat.

Nathaniel ran his hand through his hair. "You both know that I'll be leaving for the Free Marches within the next two months. I don't know when I'll be able to come back to Ferelden, but I wanted to ask this of both of you before I left." He took a breath and stood up straighter. "I love your daughter. Nothing would make me happier than to become her husband once I return."

Bryce sat back in his chair and let out a slow breath. "You'll have to forgive me," he said slowly. "It isn't every day that a young man asks for my only daughter's hand in marriage."

"This is all so sudden," Eleanor said, looking as if she were more composed than her husband. "Especially since we haven't heard word of you deciding to court her before now."

Nathaniel scuffed the toe of his boot against the stone floor. The look that Eleanor gave him made him feel guilty. "Actually, I've been privately courting her for a little over two years now. I thought that it would be best to keep our relationship quiet, seeing that I am to leave soon."

"And now?" Bryce arched his eyebrow. "Why come to us before you leave when you could have waited until you returned? You've kept everything else from us, why not this?"

Nathaniel winced. "I see now what a mistake that keeping our relationship private has been. Just so you know, Moira was against it all along; she wanted to tell you both but I talked her into waiting." He looked down. "Eight years is a very long time to be gone. I have no doubts as to her feelings, but I wanted to make my intentions clear now."

"Absence does make the heart grow fonder," Eleanor said.

"Or forgetful," Bryce added. "Tell us; is part of your request due to the fact that while you're away, there will be other men vying for her hand?"

"Yes, but not how you think. I…" Nathaniel finally sat down. "I know that Moira will be faithful to me, but I worry that she'll feel guilty about sending suitors away without giving a proper explanation as to why."

"You speak of Moira's faithfulness, but what of your own?" Bryce asked. "The Free Marches border Antiva. There are many beautiful women to choose from."

"My lord, I am not a man to be easily swayed by a pretty face. I love Moira, nothing can change that. Eight, ten, thirty years from now, I will _still_ love her. I know that I am reserved by nature – my family is not known for their displays of affection, but please, do not doubt the depth of my feelings."

Eleanor rose from her seat and went over to her husband. "Bryce," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He reached up and covered her hand with his own. "I know, my darling." Giving Nathaniel a warm smile, he stood and offered his hand. "I've known you since before you were born and I've had the great privilege of watching you grow into a fine, decent young man. It would be an honor to be able to call you my son."

Nathaniel stared at the Teyrn's offered hand, slightly dumbfounded. "It would?" he asked, numbly taking hold of it.

Bryce laughed, pulling on Nathaniel's hand until he had hauled him to his feet. "Of course it would. We both had our suspicions that there was something going on between the two of you all along, but we didn't want to question it until either one of you were ready to come to us. You are a good man Nathaniel. I wouldn't let my daughter go to anyone less."

"I assume that you wish to keep our conversation quiet?" Eleanor inquired, embracing Nathaniel.

Bryce clapped his hand over Nathaniel's shoulder. "Does anyone else know?" he asked, almost at the same time.

Nathaniel shook his head. "Only Fergus. I want to wait until I return to properly ask Moira." He laughed. "I haven't even looked for a ring."

"You won't have to," Eleanor said. She slipped a plain gold band off her left ring finger and pressed it into his palm. "This belonged to my mother, and to her mother before that. It's tradition amongst my family to pass this ring down from mother to daughter and I would be pleased to offer it to you to give to Moira. I've always hoped that you two would get together, ever since you were children."

"But…"

"No buts, my dear." She folded his fingers around the ring and stood aside. "Consider this my blessing."

He held his closed fist close to his heart. "Thank you. I'll hold it close until the time comes for me to give it to her."

"Your father and I have much to discuss now," Bryce said. "I've been dreading haggling over bride prices ever since my girl was little. It's a comfort to know that at least I'll be dealing with a trusted friend."

"If it's all the same, could that talk wait until I return? I would like to be a part of it."

Bryce smiled. "That would be better. I'm almost glad that you are leaving; it means that I get to keep my Pup that much longer."

Nathaniel knew that Moira and her father were close; it was evident in the way that Teyrn Bryce often indulged his daughter's wishes and how Moira spoke highly of her father. If anything, he didn't want their marriage to put a strain on that bond. "Amaranthine is only a few days away. We will visit often and I'm sure that my father wouldn't object to you being guests in our home."

"And this is another reason I know that you are the right one for our Moira. Never forget: family will always come first." Bryce stepped away and held onto Eleanor's hand. "Even if we were the poorest people in Ferelden, I would consider myself a wealthy man to have a woman that I love with all my heart as my wife and two young adults who are making their way into the world as my children. Titles and rank can be taken away on a whim. Power and status are precarious things to base a marriage on; as long as you have love on your side, anything is possible."

Nathaniel thought that it was odd how Bryce had inadvertently echoed his own father's harsh words at the beginning of the week. The two men had opposite ideas when it came to marriage, but Nathaniel found himself believing that Teyrn Bryce's views were something that he wanted to aspire to.

Bryce watched as Nathaniel left the room. Turning to his wife, he wiped his knuckle against the corner of his eye. "I always thought that Fergus would be the first to be engaged," he said. "I thought that we'd be able to hold onto our baby longer than this."

Eleanor looked out the window. Her sitting room offered a perfect view of her gardens below, and she smiled at the spring in Nathaniel's step. She didn't even mind when he snapped off a pink rose, knowing who the recipient would be. "Do you remember being that young and in love?" she asked.

"Of course I do, dearest." He wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I feel that way every time I look at you."

She laughed, settling back in his arms. "Charmer."

"To my dying breath." He kissed her cheek. "But tell me something, my love. How in the world are we going to keep quiet when Moira first notices that your wedding band is missing?"

Eleanor turned until she could drape her arms around Bryce's shoulders. "Once she does, I'll act incredibly upset for a while and pretend to search frantically for it for a few days. Then you, in your infinite generosity, will commission a new one to be made to make up for my loss."

"Infinite generosity, is it? It sounds to me as if I've been had."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "But you don't mind, now do you?"

"Not in the slightest. I do sense a flaw in your plan though."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"It just doesn't feel right to get you a brand new ring and be done with it. Your other one had three marriage ceremonies tied to it. Would you consider renewing our wedding vows?"

Eleanor leaned up on her tiptoes and gave her husband a brief peck on the lips. "Are you asking?"

"I am. My dearest Eleanor, would you marry a Teyrn for the second time?"

She smiled. "No, I will not marry a Teyrn. I will however remarry Bryce Cousland, the man that I'm still madly in love with after all these years, with whom I've built a wonderful life and raised two beautiful children together."

Bryce framed her face with his hands before dipping his head down to kiss her. "How did I ever become so fortunate?" he murmured against her lips. "My only wish is that our children will be able to experience what we have with their respective partners."

"I hope that they will as well." She snuggled closer, her head on his shoulder. Nathaniel Howe wasn't classically handsome by court standards, but there was a certain attractiveness to him that Eleanor could see her daughter gravitate towards. In her mind's eye, she could clearly picture little grey eyed Howe children with the Cousland's chestnut hair running about the castle and her heart swelled at the thought of the halls filling once again with the sound of children's laughter. _They shall call me Grandmama,_ she decided, a contented sigh slipping past her lips.

"What are you thinking of?" Bryce asked.

"I was just thinking how spoiled our grandchildren are going to be. Oh Bryce, they'll be so beautiful, I already know it."

Bryce laughed and held her closer in his arms. "I do hope you'll give them a chance to be newlyweds before you start insisting on them making you a grandmother."

"Don't worry. I promise I won't start nagging until after their first year together."

"It's just going to be hard playing dumb for the next eight or so years," Bryce said. "Do you think that we can do it?"

"You said it yourself," Eleanor said, threading her fingers into her husband's hair. "With love, anything is possible."


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 8  
Rating: pg-13 for mild adult content  
Summary: Two-thirds of the trio head off on their own.  
Note: This was written for ten_by_ten's "secret meeting" prompt.

* * *

"How long will you be gone, Brother?" Thomas sat in the middle of Nathaniel's bed and watched as his older brother finished packing clothing into a well worn satchel. Nathaniel had a week until he left for the Free Marches, but he felt as if it didn't hurt to have everything prepared.

He inspected one of his daggers before deciding to set it aside for sharpening. "Eight to ten years."

Thomas sighed. "That's a long time from now. I'll be…" He scrunched up his nose as he did the mental calculations. "Twenty or twenty-two by the time you return."

Nathaniel sat down beside his little brother and put an arm around his shoulders. "One of the things that I'm going to miss is seeing you grow up. Promise me that you'll become a fine young man." While their parents never gave the three of them much attention, as the eldest, Nathaniel had always made a point to show affection towards his younger siblings.

Thomas hugged him tightly around his middle. "I will. I want to be just like you when I get older."

He laughed. "Well, maybe not _just_ like me," reaching out, he tapped the end of his brother's nose. "I like you how you are, my little musician." Thomas had taken an interest in playing musical instruments at a young age, especially the lute. Father had always frowned upon it, saying that Thomas was wasting his time on foolish activities, and he often made himself scarce whenever Thomas would play. Oddly enough, his hobby was something that their mother strongly encouraged.

"What will you miss the most?"

Nathaniel sighed. _The Keep, for starters. The apple pastries Adria would make especially for him. Watching Delilah practice her dancing. Listening to Thomas compose a new song for Mother. Sitting at Father's side in his study. Riding all over Amaranthine in the Spring. Moira._ He would miss Moira the most, though he wasn't about to admit that out loud to Thomas. "Oh, I don't know. Everything, I guess."

"Do you have a sweetheart that you'll be leaving behind?"

_This boy is too perceptive for his own good._ "What makes you say that?"

"I just figured that you would. The head maid's assistant keeps on giggling whenever you pass by."

Nathaniel quirked an eyebrow. This was a first. "What?"

"And the serving girls all gossip about you. As do some of the laundry staff. They say that you're cute." Thomas looked Nathaniel over with a critical eye. "I don't think you're cute."

"Well, that makes two of us. But to answer your question, perhaps I do have a sweetheart."

"What's her name? Do I know her?" Thomas sat up straighter and gave Nathaniel his full attention.

"Perhaps you do. Then again, perhaps you don't."

Thomas made a face. "If you don't want to tell me, just come out and say that you don't."

He gave him a small smile. "It isn't that. I just want to keep her to myself for a little while longer. Once I return, I'll tell everyone." His father had asked if he had already asked Moira to marry him. He had seemed relieved when Nathaniel had said that he hadn't. _Good,_ his father had said. _It's best to leave such matters until you come back instead of dealing with them over long distances._ Grinning, Nathaniel put his little brother into a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over the crown of his head. "Besides, if I tell you, what's to say that you won't go stealing her from behind my back? You're a charming little scamp; I'm afraid that my lady wouldn't stand a chance."

"Hey!"

* * *

"It's going to be so quiet at home without Fergus around," Moira commented, looking out of the carriage's window. "An entire year without him; I'll not know how to behave once he returns."

"It will be odd without him," Eleanor agreed. "I do wish that he would have postponed this trip to Antiva until the weather was better; I worry about how his ship will fare in rougher water." Their father had some business dealings with a minor noble in Antiva; instead of being away for such a long time himself, Bryce had decided to send Fergus in his stead. The trip was to serve a dual purpose; Fergus would conclude their father's business and he would also have one last fling before settling down with some nobleman's daughter. Over the years he had played the aloof young swain that flitted about from girl to girl. Their parents had tolerated him in the past, but now that he was twenty-one, they had finally put their foot down on his flirtatious behavior, insisting that if he were to someday become Teyrn that he should start acting like a proper heir.

Moira sighed. "At least he won't be making the first leg of his journey alone. Nathaniel will be with him." The fact that Nathaniel was set to leave was hard enough on its own to bear; the thought that her brother would also be away made Moira feel incredibly lonely. The three of them had been a unit for years now and they had never been apart for such a long time – Moira almost felt resentful that the two of them were leaving for places they'd never been to while she was to wait for them to come home.

A selfish part of her wished that Fergus would be the one to stay away longest, that Nathaniel would be gone for merely a year. She was going to miss him so much. At least with both he and Fergus leaving at the same time from Amaranthine's harbor, she now had an excuse to spend the most of what little time was left with him.

"That does set my mind more at ease. At least there will be a friendly face aboard for a while."

"Oh, you know Fergus," Moira said, looking out the window again. The sky was as dark as her mood and it looked as if it would soon rain. "It never takes him long to befriend someone. I wager that before he sets foot in Antiva that every single man on that ship will think that he's their long lost brother."

Moira's guess as to the weather proved to be true; the skies opened up once the carriage pulled up to the front gates of Vigil's Keep, shrouding the tallest battlement in darkness and adding a decidedly eerie atmosphere. Servants held covers over their heads to ward off the worst of the rain, but Moira and her mother had to gather up their skirts in their hands to avoid ruining them with mud.

"Dreadful weather, isn't it Rendon?" Bryce asked, shaking the Arl's hand once they had reached the Keep's throne room.

"I'm just glad that you and your family were able to make the trip before the worst of it hit," he replied. 'Eleanor, it is a pleasure as always to welcome you and your children into our home."

Moira dipped into a low curtsey, happy that she had finally mastered how to do such a move gracefully. She tried to hide the smile that crept onto her face when she noticed that Nathaniel's parents were looking at her in approval. "Delilah, I'm so pleased to see you again."

Her friend gave her an even lower curtsey. "It seems as if it has been ages," she replied. "Thank you for your latest letter; I've just now finished penning a reply." Moira hated the formal manner that their speech tended to take whenever they were in the Arl's home. It was such a contrast from their conversations in Highever, but she wanted to be seen as an agreeable young lady, one that the Howes would be pleased to have as their daughter-in-law.

She looked up when she heard footsteps echo behind Delilah. "Nathaniel," she said, fighting the urge to fling herself into his arms.

Nathaniel took her hand in his and dropped a courtly kiss across the backs of her knuckles. "My lady, you grow prettier every time I see you." Moira beamed at him, even though she heard Fergus stifle a snicker behind her back. She felt some satisfaction when the sound of her mother clearing her throat cut the muffled bit of laughter short.

"You must be tired after your trip," Arlessa Regina said. "Please, allow me to show you all to your guest rooms."

* * *

Once they were alone in Moira's guest room, Delilah turned into the chatterbox that Moira knew her to be. "Father is already talking about pairing me with Lord Packton's son. You remember him, don't you?"

"Only vaguely," Moira admitted from behind the painted silk screen in the corner of the bedroom. "Is he handsome?" Her voice was muffled as she slipped the dress she'd been wearing for the past two days over her head.

Delilah's cheeks turned pink and she busied herself with helping Moira put away her clothes into the empty armoire. "I like to think that he is. Father says that the Packtons are below our station, but it wouldn't hurt to give him a chance. Father is also in talks with Arl Wulff. He has two eligible sons, you know."

The water in the nearby tub was laced with rose scented oil, something Moira knew Delilah favored. "Yes. They're both suitable for you." She didn't care how much of a girl it made her, but it felt good to finally run soap through her hair. She'd woven her hair into an elaborately braided style for the trip, but even then, she couldn't help but feel grimy. "How exciting; you might have three boys fighting for your heart."

Delilah sighed. "I can only hope to find a relationship as well matched as the one that you have with my brother." She laughed when Moira peered out from behind the screen, her eyes wide. "Oh, don't look that way at me. I cornered Nathaniel a month ago and he finally confessed that he was courting you. I promised him that I would keep silent, but it doesn't count if I talk to someone that's also in on the secret as well, does it?"

Moira gave a rueful smile. "No, I guess it doesn't. Truthfully, it's a relief to be able to speak to someone about it. You don't know how often I've wanted to say something to you."

Delilah hugged a pair of embroidered slippers that she had been admiring. Moira had the same shoe size as she and she wondered if her friend wouldn't mind sharing while they were together. "Oh, don't leave anything out! I wish to know everything. Does my brother give you gifts?"

"Small ones, on occasion." Actually, she was wearing a pair of earrings he had given her for her last name day. She was careful not to get the delicate interlocking metal rings caught as she wrapped her hair up in a towel. Drying off, she pulled a plain white shift on and went to sit beside the fire to allow her hair to dry. Delilah joined her and before she knew it, she was talking animatedly to her about all the sweet things that Nathaniel had often done in the course of two years, the two of them giggling and sighing like the way that Moira had wanted to do ever since she was sixteen.

* * *

The rain still hadn't let up by that evening, which was all right in Moira's book. It meant that the pattering of raindrops outside muffled her footsteps, making her progress even that much harder to detect by any guard that happened to come by. She was the first to admit that her stealth wasn't the best, but she had been practicing until she'd been able to sneak past the guards back home. Even Ser Gilmore – and it was still so strange to call Roland by his formal title, seeing as he'd been simply Rory to her since he was eleven and she eight – hadn't been able to detect her presence. She was at a door and carefully fitting a pair of lock picks into the keyhole – she'd caught the stable boy picking a lock in the barn when he'd accidentally locked himself out. She had persuaded him to teach her the same skills in return for promising not to rat his more unsavory method of entry out to the stable manager – when the door abruptly opened.

"I thought I heard a little mouse scratch at the keyhole," Nathaniel whispered, gathering her in his arms before she pitched face first onto the floor. "Whatever shall I do with her now that I've caught her?"

Smiling, Moira let him lead her into his bedroom, her hands blindly fumbling at the lock behind her back. "I wonder what you have in mind," she murmured, rising up on tiptoe to kiss him. "I've wanted to do this since we first arrived," she told him, her fingers sifting through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"My sister has kept you busy," Nathaniel agreed, his lips tracing the shell of her ear. "You're wearing the earrings I gave you."

She nodded, recognizing the pleased tone of voice he used. "They've become my favorite pair. I rarely take them off." She sagged against him when his teeth grazed across the skin of her neck. "Delilah and I have been talking."

"Oh? What about?"

"You. For your information, your sister thinks that you're incredibly romantic."

"Well, there goes my reputation. For the record, Fergus also knows about us."

Moira's eyebrow rose. "I see. At least that explains all the teasing he's been doing lately."

He drew back so he could see her face. "Teasing? If he's bothering you, I…"

"No, it's no bother. He's just asserting his usual older brother status and now he has something to hold over my head." Moira stepped out of his embrace and walked over to the fireplace. "I don't mind; I'm going to have an entire year without him, so he's been making up for whatever time he's going to lose."

Nathaniel came up behind her and held onto her shoulders. "I feel as if the both of us are abandoning you," he confessed.

"I'll be honest; I feel the same way." Moira blinked away tears that had suddenly sprung up, her throat tight. "You two are going to be headed off on your own while I'm stuck here waiting for your return. It makes me wonder when my turn will come to have my own grand adventure, or if it ever will."

He rested his chin on her shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, most of my time away will be spent getting up at the crack of dawn and training all day long, only to spend my nights on patrol duty. I doubt that it will be as exciting as you think it will be."

She hugged her arms. "There will be plenty of pretty girls there." There was still that little nagging, irrational fear that kept her up at night that some unknown woman would be able to take him away, no matter how devoted she knew he was to her.

Nathaniel frowned. Turning her until she faced him, he gently tilted her head up. "Know this," he said, his expression serious. "I love you, Moira Cousland. While I'm gone, the only thought that will go through my mind when I see these so-called pretty girls will be how much prettier you are than they. Do you doubt my feelings so?"

She shook her head. "It isn't you that I'm worried about; it's the girls that are likely to throw themselves at you that have me concerned." She traced the edges of his frown with the tips of her fingers. "We women are tenacious when we see a handsome man that we want."

"That's the second time today that someone has told me that." He had stopped frowning, his stance relaxing.

"Oh? And who was the first?"

"Surprisingly, it was Thomas. He said that I have half the maid staff all a-flutter."

"I would have to agree with half of the maid staff then. You make me all a-flutter whenever I see you as well."

He grinned. "I don't know how I became so fortunate that you feel that way; for the life of me, I have no idea why you would."

She rolled her eyes, even as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "That you aren't aware of how wonderfully attractive you are to the opposite sex is part of your appeal, my love. Heaven help us if you ever decide to grow an ego."

He dipped his head and gave her a light kiss. "And that is one of the many reasons I keep you around. The moment I do, I'm certain that you would be right there to put me back in my proper place."

"Well, I can't be fighting off every single woman in Ferelden otherwise. My day would be completely full and I'd never get a chance to spend any time with you. But tell me, where is this proper place that I would be putting you back into?"

He drew her closer until he could bury the side of his face against her hair. The scent of roses wafted up from the strands and mixed with the faint lavender of her usual perfume, making him pleasantly lightheaded. "Where else but where it has always been? My place is wherever you are."

* * *

Moira chewed on her thumbnail and looked herself over in the full length mirror. Using one hand, she pulled her hair up and away from her face and then let it drop back down to her shoulders. Turning one way and then another, she finally drew back from the mirror. She nibbled at her bottom lip in indecision as she surveyed the bit of cosmetics she had brought with her, finally settling on a tiny dab of perfume behind both ears and in between her cleavage. Belting her robe tightly around her waist, she blew out her candle and closed the door behind her.

The week had gone by in a blur, which was exactly what she had been afraid of. At least the rain had stopped after the fourth day: it was dry enough to tour the gardens with Delilah on the fifth day of their visit and even more so on the sixth day when she and Nathaniel managed to sneak out of the Keep and head out into the countryside for a picnic lunch. They had spent the rest of the afternoon beside a small stream; the banks had still been muddy and she was glad that she had thought to change into a plain tunic and breeches she often wore during her training drills instead of a gown.

"_Do you like it here?"_ Nathaniel had asked, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers as they lounged together underneath the shade of a tree.

"_I do. Amaranthine is beautiful this time of year."_

"_I'm glad. I was hoping that you would."_

"_Worried that I might grow homesick should I leave Highever?"_

"_A bit. I want you to be happy here."_ She made her way down the hallway, her bare feet not making a sound against the stone floor. Moira hesitated at Nathaniel's door, her knuckles hovering over the wood and her heart pounding in her chest, before she straightened her shoulders and gave a soft knock.

When Nathaniel opened the door, he had expected Moira to appear dressed much as she had been for the better part of the day. The thin blue robe that covered her nightgown took him by surprise. "You're leaving tomorrow morning," she said in a rush, closing the door and locking it. "I…"

It was as if a light had gone off in his head. "Do you think that I expected you to…" he trailed off, his hand waving about ineffectively as he tried to search for a term.

She shook her head. "No, but I want to." Biting her lip, she stared up at him. "That is, if _you_ want to. If not, I can…"

"No, I do. It's just…" He sighed. They'd never been at such a loss for words before. "Can we start over?"

She pressed her lips together. "I'm not any good at this," she admitted, fussing with the sleeves of her robe.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded, slipping the robe off her shoulders. "I want this, Nathaniel. I've wanted this for years." She tugged at the ribbon holding the neckline of her gown.

"Wait. Let me." His hands brushed over her skin, his thumbs running in circles over the bumps of her collarbone. He dipped his head and kissed her, and suddenly the nervousness that had clawed at her throat vanished. She melted against him, moving when Nathaniel led her towards his bed. She sighed against his mouth, her hands pulling his tunic up and over his head.

"I love you," he whispered, his mouth trailing down her throat and then lower. After that, no other words were needed. Nathaniel wished that he had thought to light more candles other than the one short stub at a table on the other side of the room; he had wanted to see her better. They moved slowly, taking their time to learn the texture of the other's skin, where bodies dipped and where they curved. There were a few awkward moments as was to be expected: Moira laughed off the way that Nathaniel's elbow had pinned her hair to the mattress and she had apologized for the way that her fingernails had dug too hard into his biceps. Moira had tensed and inhaled sharply when they had finally come together and it had taken everything in Nathaniel to stay still long enough for her to get used to him. He nearly came unglued when she had experimentally tilted her hips upward, her mouth opening up on a gasp at the sensation.

It was over soon after. Moira had lay there underneath him, her hands smoothing over his sides, but he could tell that she hadn't finished the same way that he had. He'd murmured an apology against her ear, his hands and lips trailing down her body until she shuddered and cried out, her back bowing. Nathaniel rolled to his side, bringing Moira along with him. She settled her head against the curve of his shoulder, her hand on his chest. He dropped a kiss over the crown of her hair, yawning. It wasn't long before both of them fell into a comfortable slumber wrapped up in the other's arms.

Moira woke later on feeling slightly disoriented. Reaching out in the dark, her hand touched nothing but the sheets next to her. Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her face. "Nate?"

"Over here."

She wrapped the coverlet around her and slid out of bed. "Any regrets?" she asked cautiously, going over to where Nathaniel was standing at the window. The moon was still high in the sky; what little light that spilled through the window barely illuminated part of Nathaniel's face, sending the rest into shadow.

"Only that I'm leaving in the morning." He reached out and trailed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "Maker, but I'm going to miss you."

"Will you write to me as soon as you are able?" She wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands splaying upwards over his back.

"Every day."

She gave a watery sounding laugh before sniffling. "I doubt you'll have an opportunity to do that. Think of the poor messenger you'll be sending out all the time. As often as possible will be fine for me."

Nathaniel's eyes went towards his bedside table drawer, where he kept the wedding band Moira's mother had given him. Originally he had meant to wait until he returned to ask her, but at moment, it felt right. "I love you," he began. "When I look at you, I want to tell everyone how happy you make me."

"I love you too." She kissed his shoulder and snuggled closer to him. "And I want to do the same."

He tipped her head up so he was looking her in the eye. "And when I return, nothing would make me happier than the ability to tell everyone that you're my wife."

Moira beamed up at him. "You have no idea how much I want that, Nate," she breathed.

"I was going to ask you this when I returned, but now I realize that I can't wait for years for an answer. Moira, would you do me the honor of consenting…" He didn't finish; Moira had thrown her arms around him and pressed her mouth to his.

"I'll not have our children find out years down the road that their parents became engaged while wearing nothing but a sheet," she said, laughing as he spun her around. "Ask me properly when you return, but know that my answer will be yes."

"Yes? Truly?" He couldn't contain the happy laugh that escaped him.

"Yes." She planted kisses across his cheeks and chin. "Even if you ask me a thousand times, I will always say yes."

He kissed her hard, tangling his fingers into her hair. "I didn't think it was possible for me to love you any more than I already did. Never doubt that my feelings for you will ever lessen; if anything, they'll only grow stronger."

Moira un-tucked the coverlet she had wrapped around her, allowing it to fall to her feet. "Come back to bed, Nathaniel," she whispered, taking his hand and lacing her fingers with his.

* * *

Nathaniel woke to something tickling his nose. Stretching, his arms bumped into incredibly soft skin. He grinned and opened his eyes. Moira's back was facing him, her hands tucked underneath her chin. His knees fit perfectly behind hers and the curve of her hip seemed as if it had been made specifically for his hand alone. The room was still somewhat dark, but he could tell that it was close to daybreak. Reluctantly pushing himself to his elbow, he leaned over and kissed her shoulder.

"Mmm," she hummed, still half-asleep as she burrowed deeper beneath the covers, her back settling firmly against his chest.

"Wake up, dearest."

"I don't want to." Reaching down so she could cover his hand with hers, she turned until she was on her back. "If I wake up, it means that it'll be morning. Morning means that you'll be gone."

"Believe me, I don't want to get up any more than you do, but I'd rather spend what little time we have together in your room so that no one catches the both of us sneaking about the hallways in our night clothes."

"You have a point," she told him sulkily. "It might have worked when we were children, but I doubt it will now."

He kissed her forehead. "Come on, the sooner we put ourselves back to rights, the longer we can stay in the other's company."

They dressed in silence, the two of them creeping down the hall until they reached the guestroom Moira was staying at. Nathaniel busied himself with lighting a fire in the hearth while Moira slipped into a day gown behind the changing screen. She ran her brush through her hair to remove sleep tangles and then went over to where Nathaniel was sitting in an oversized chair. "When does your ship leave?" she asked, slipping into his lap, her arms wrapping around his waist.

"At noon."

"I'm going to miss you so much. We've never been apart for so long."

He cradled her cheek in his palm and hugged her tightly. "I will come back to you, I swear."

"And I'll wait for you, always." She leaned against his hand and closed her eyes. "I'll wait for you forever."

"Luckily we won't be apart that long. You do realize that this is going to have to serve as our actual goodbyes, don't you?"

She sighed. "I know. I'm going to be able to give Fergus the tearful send-off because he's my brother, but it doesn't seem right that I'm going to have to be formal and polite when it comes to you."

"Only for a little while longer. Then we'll be married and everything will be different." His brow furrowed and he wondered what they would be like as a couple. He hoped that they would have something like he remembered his own parents having; he might have been young at the time, but he could clearly remember the way that Mother would laugh and how Father would gaze upon her with such affection. Father had adored the two of them, and then when Delilah was born, he had doted upon the three of them. Nathaniel recalled riding upon Father's shoulders and the late night stories he would tell about the Blackmarsh and how he would often would find Father in the nursery cradling Delilah as she slept. But then Thomas was born and everything…stopped. Mother's laughter rarely rang out unless Thomas was playing the lute, and even then, Nathaniel often caught her looking sad and wistful. Father distanced himself from all three of his children, but it seemed as if the youngest two caught the brunt of whatever had happened. Nathaniel might have managed to receive a bit of affection from Father over the years, but it had always felt as if he had to work to earn it, that he had to prove to Father that he was worthy of his affection.

In contrast, he thought of Moira's parents. Bryce and Eleanor's home was always filled with warmth and love. He could recall only a handful of times where it was obvious that the two of them were having arguments – Moira had certainly inherited her quick temper from her mother – but even then, they were both quick to get over whatever issue they had been fighting over and forgive the other. What had struck Nathaniel the most was the fact that it seemed as if the Teyrn and Teyrna had a partnership where both of them were considered equals, that they were friends as well as spouses. If anything, that was the sort of marriage that he envisioned for himself and Moira. Perhaps once they were wed, Vigil's Keep would once again be the sort of home where laughter and love would echo through the halls.

"At least I shall have plenty of time to win over your mother."

"What are you talking about? Mother adores you."

Moira raised her eyebrow. "Nate, just because she doesn't say anything, I know she doesn't quite approve of me. I'm not very feminine in comparison to your mother and sister."

He shrugged. "I know how you are. If I wanted someone that was exactly the same as my mother or sister, I would have married Bann Esmerelle's daughter years ago." He kissed her forehead. "Didn't I tell you when we were children that you should marry someone that doesn't mind getting bested in swordplay?"

"You actually remember that?"

"Of course I do. I have a mind like a steel trap." He tapped the side of his head for emphasis.

She laughed. "Remind me never to do anything foolish in front of you. I'll be bound to hear about it decades after it happened."

Nathaniel tugged her closer, his hands sliding over the silk of her dress. "Don't worry; I wouldn't do such a thing. You have my permission to act as foolish as you wish as long as the same can be applied to me."

She looked at him with so much love in her eyes that he felt as if his heart would burst from it. "I believe we have a deal."

* * *

"Mother, I'm only going to be gone for a year. You'll have plenty of time to make certain that my clothes are in order when I return," Fergus teased.

Eleanor tisked and ran her hands over his shoulders to smooth out several wrinkles. "I'm a mother; indulge me."

"Remember what I told you," Bryce said, embracing his son. "When speaking in Antivan, the phrase _another beer, please_ is not the correct thing to say to your host as soon as you arrive, even if it sounds similar to _it is a pleasure to meet you_." He leaned closer to Fergus. "If you're going to use the first phrase, make sure to wait at least until you're through with first mug he gives you."

"Bryce!"

Fergus laughed. "Relax, Mother. I intend on being a model guest."

"Who is this man and what have you done with my child?" Eleanor hugged him. "I'm going to miss you, my son."

He squeezed back. "I'm going to miss you too."

Moira wiped at her eye with a knuckle. "Make certain to leave at least one Antivan woman with her heart intact. I fear that you're going to start a war after you pursue the wrong nobleman's daughter."

"I think I have more to worry about from assassins protecting their sisters and daughters than nobles."

She rolled her eyes. "One day, some woman is going to steal your heart and bring you to your knees. I only hope that I'm there to witness it."

"If that day ever happens, little sister, I'll be certain to marry her and never love another."

"Just take care of yourself, all right?"

Fergus hugged her tighter. "I will, I promise. And I'll look after your Nate as long as I can." He said the last in a whisper so that she was the only one to hear.

"Thank you. I know he doesn't need it, but…" she pulled back slightly. "What did you call him?"

He grinned. "We can't call him _our_ Nate any longer, now can we? As long as I've known you, you haven't been one to share." He chuckled when Moira lightly smacked the back of his head, kissing her cheek noisily in return.

Nathaniel tightened a strap to his pack and watched as Fergus' family bid their son farewell. His heart clenched as he saw Moira wrap her arms around Fergus' neck and kiss his cheek. "I hope you have a safe journey," Delilah told him. Unlike the Cousland's public well wishes, Delilah and Thomas had privately seen him off. His sister's eyes were still a little red, but she managed to keep her voice level as they stood outside the Keep's front gates.

"Remember to write us," Thomas said.

"I will. The two of you had better remember to write me back as well."

Delilah wrung her hands in indecision before going up on her tiptoes and throwing her arms around Nathaniel's shoulders. "Be safe, Brother," she whispered, her lips brushing against his cheek.

Not caring about appearances, Nathaniel embraced her with one arm while reaching out and bringing Thomas into the hug with his other. "I'm going to miss the both of you. Take care of yourselves."

"Have a safe passage, my son," his father said, clapping his hand on Nathaniel's shoulder.

"Thank you, Father. Farewell, Mother."

His mother nodded, her hands clutching a linen handkerchief in her hands so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. "My son." Her nostrils flared and Nathaniel was certain that she was blinking away tears. She stepped forward and flicked a bit of imaginary lint off his sleeve, her hand lingering longer than necessary. "Make our family proud."

"Of course he will," Rendon said, his tone proud. "He is a Howe."

Nathaniel broke away from his family and went towards the Couslands. "Farewell, my lord, my lady."

"Take care, Nathaniel," Bryce said, shaking his hand.

"Be careful, my dear," Eleanor told him, holding his other hand. Her thumb ran comfortingly over the back of his palm. "Come back to us safely."

"I will." The thin chain around his neck seemed to weigh a ton; underneath his tunic, he had threaded the ring Eleanor had given him onto the links so that it rested over his heart.

Moira's lips were pressed into a thin line. She opened her mouth to say something, but then slightly shook her head and swallowed hard. "My lady," Nathaniel said softly, taking her hand in his. He kissed the backs of her fingers, his lips lingering over her left ring finger.

"Well," Fergus said, his voice cheerful. "Shall we be off?"

Moira and Delilah watched until their brothers were specks on the horizon. "Everything will be all right," Delilah said, threading her arm through Moira's.

Her chest felt tight and she could feel tears burn at the back of her throat. "Yes, it will."

* * *

Nathaniel stood in line with Fergus as they waited to board the ship. "That wasn't the most heartfelt of farewells," Fergus noted casually. "I mean, you're not going to see my sister for a really long while."

"Forgive me. I couldn't think of any poetry to recite on bended knee at the moment."

"Sarcasm suits you, Nate. Grouchiness doesn't. I do hope you aren't going to brood the entire time."

He scowled. He thought that he would have been all right with leaving, but it was taking everything in him to stay on the docks instead of running back to the Keep and back to Moira. "I do not…Moira?"

"That didn't make any sense."

"Shut up. Is that your sister?" He took a few steps forward, pointing at the entrance to the docks.

"Why would my," Fergus squinted. "By Andraste, it _is_ Moira." Moira seemed to be looking for them, and they both knew the moment she had spotted them. There was a considerable crowd of merchants and sailors who were blocking her way, but she elbowed through them, her hands holding her skirts up to her knees, exposing the tall boots she wore underneath. Nathaniel watched as she ran towards him, his feet moving on their own to meet her halfway.

"Oh Nate," she said, kissing him as he spun them around in a circle, lifting her off her feet. "I couldn't bear to have that be the last time we see each other."

"How did you get here so quickly?"

She gave him a slightly guilty look. "I borrowed your horse."

He laughed, kissing her again. "By yourself?"

"Actually, I got caught halfway out of the stables. I also borrowed your captain of the guard. He wouldn't allow me to leave by myself otherwise."

He looked behind her. Just as she said, the Keep's captain was standing a few feet away. "Captain Varel is a good man. You'll have to thank him for me."

"Oi! Put my sister down and get on board before we leave without you!"

"I love you," Moira breathed, kissing him one last time.

"I meant what I said earlier. No matter what happens, no matter how long I'm away, I will always love you. _Nothing_ can ever change that."

She touched his cheek. "You have to go," she said brightly. "Don't tell me goodbye; just say that you'll see me later."

"Nate! Move it!"

"Feel free to kill my brother," Moira said, smirking as Nathaniel bent to touch his forehead to hers. "Or else I may beat you to it."

"I will see you later," he promised. He took a deep breath and stepped away.

"Much better in the heartfelt department," Fergus commented, holding out a hand to help Nathaniel onto the ship's deck. "And you look far better than you had before. I'll have to thank Moira for putting you in a much bearable mood."

Nathaniel watched as they sailed away. Moira stood there hugging her arms. He stared as she smiled brilliantly at him and he had to agree: having Moira smiling at him as his last view of her was far better than seeing her close to tears.

_I'll see you later,_ he thought, holding onto the rail of the ship. _And once I return, nothing will keep us apart again._


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 9  
Rating: PG for questionable underage drinking, if Ferelden even has an age limit.  
Summary: In the Free Marches, Nathaniel receives some unsettling news.  
Note: Written for the LJ community ten_by_ten's "ink" prompt.

* * *

"Howe."

Nathaniel looked up from the book he had been reading. "What is it?"

One of the guardsmen in his regiment was leaning against the doorframe, an irritated look on his face. "There's a musician in the tavern who wants to talk to you. Keeps saying he's your brother."

"Thomas?" Nathaniel put his book away and stood up. "What is he doing here?"

"Hell if I know, but he's blind drunk and going on about wanting to see the King of Ferelden. You'd better see to him before he gets himself in any trouble."

Nathaniel didn't even bother with his jacket. It was winter in the Free Marches, even though winter there usually felt like a warm fall day back home. It had taken him a while to get accustomed to the warmer climate, much to the amusement of his new collogues, but after the second year away, he had walked around like a native. He might do a lot of traveling for scouting missions, but his home base was just a week's worth of sailing from Amaranthine's harbor. Had his training allowed it, he would have gone back, but the most leave time allowed for anyone was merely two days. There was no way that he would have made it to home and back in time. None of his family had ever come to visit him either, preferring to converse in letter format instead. Delilah and Father were the ones who wrote to him the most; Thomas had at first, but then his letters had grown shorter and less frequent.

He frowned. And now this. Perhaps the guardsman had been misinformed. Nathaniel lengthened his stride and made his way towards the tavern.

"We've got a troubled one tonight," the barmaid said. They'd fallen into a sort of friendship after he'd diffused a fight that would have turned ugly his first year. She told him later on when they had known the other better that she felt comfortable around him because he bore a resemblance to a brother who had recently passed on. When his schedule allowed it, he would come in to the tavern for a pint of ale and a bit of conversation with her while she wound her way through tables, a serving tray held high over her head. It was nice to have found someone in a strange place who hadn't wanted anything more than a good conversation and a friendly shoulder to lean on. "At least he's a happy drunk, although we might need to throw him out if he gets too rowdy. Shame; he's a pretty one."

"Don't worry about it, Rose. I'll handle it." Now that he was closer, he could hear a deep voice belt out a song about losing his money to a cheating woman. The words were slurred, but he could clearly make out an accent that reminded Nathaniel sharply of home.

She winked at him. "You always do. He's sitting in the far corner; if you need anything, just give me a wave."

Nathaniel wound his way through a crowd of people. The man in question was sitting by himself with his feet propped up on the table, an empty flagon of wine beside him. "Brother!" he said merrily, strumming the lute he held in his hands. "About time you showed up! I've been looking all over for you!"

"Thomas?" Warily, he took a seat beside the stranger. He was young, but he had a neatly trimmed beard and his dark auburn hair was cut in such a way that fell rakishly over one blue eye. "Is it really you?"

"Of course it's me, Nate!" He wagged his finger at him. "You haven't forgotten your dear little brother, now have you?"

"Forgive me, it's just been a while since I've seen you last. You've done some growing up since then."

He took his feet off the table. "Four years! Damn, but you haven't changed a bit." Thomas squinted and poked his right index finger against Nathaniel's chin. "Though what's this bit of fluff you've decided to grow? What did you do, shave your sideburns off and glue them to your chin?" He laughed uproariously at his own joke before reaching for his empty cup. "Barmaid! We need more wine over here! Bring another cup as well so that my long lost brother can join me!"

Nathaniel turned in his chair and eyed Rose, who was standing behind the bar. He held up three fingers, which was their signal to bring out water instead. "Here you go, sirs," she said, plunking down the new flagon and taking the old. She shot Nathaniel a look, which he returned.

"Pretty lady," Thomas commented when she left. "She wants to get inside your pants."

"No she doesn't."

Thomas leered. "Well, do you mind if she gets inside mine? Did you notice her hips? Those were made for a man to hold onto! And a redhead too; she must be a firebrand between the sheets!"

Nathaniel frowned. "Rose is a friend of mine. I'll not have you speaking of her in such a manner."

"Lighten up, Brother. Andraste's tits, I swear you weren't this stuffy when you were home."

"And you weren't this drunk."

Thomas swished his water into his cup. "I have a damned good reason for that. Would you like to know what it is?" He eyed the water and set it aside.

"Yes, I would."

Ignoring his cup, Thomas pulled out a metal flask from an inside pocket of his jacket. Unscrewing the lid, he tilted his head back and swallowed. "Grandmother has finally done us all a favor and died, and Mother has left us."

Nathaniel sat up straighter. "What? When?" Nathaniel had always disliked his grandmother. Granted, she hadn't visited the Keep often, but when she had, he and his siblings had been marched out in front of her for what felt like a formal inspection. She had smelled overly sweet, almost like fruit that had been left out in the sun for too long and she had pinched Nathaniel's cheek so hard one time that her fingers had left a bruise. He could probably count the amount of times she had said something nice to her three grandchildren on one hand; she was known more for her shrewish complaints rather than any sort of sweet disposition that other grandmothers might have had.

"Two weeks ago." He eyed his brother. "Don't tell me that you're sorry she's dead; she was a horrible excuse of a person."

"I might not be sorry, but I'm not happy that she's gone either. What is this about Mother leaving? When will she come back to the Keep?" It wasn't unheard of for family members to stay at the deceased's home for a while to get things in order and oversee the legal issues surrounding a death. It made sense that Mother would be the one to do such things; she had been an only child and her mother had been her last surviving relative.

"Don't you understand? She's _not_ coming back. She _left_ us." Thomas sneered. "She never loved us."

"But…" Nathaniel sat back in his seat and let that bit of information soak in.

"It seems that the only thing tying her to Amaranthine was the fact that her miserable old bat of a mother still drew breath. Grandmother's will states that Mother is to inherit everything, seeing that there was no one else left alive to do so. As far as I'm concerned, she can go rot in that estate. I never want to see her again."

"What did Father have to say about this? Certainly he couldn't have allowed Mother to leave."

Thomas laughed, though it sounded more bitter than mirthful. "He sent her on her way with his blessing. His blessing! Said that if he knew that it would be this easy to rid himself of her that he would have killed Grandmother years ago! He made her leave everything except the clothes on her back. He told her that if she didn't consider herself his wife any longer then she wasn't entitled to anything that belonged to him, including all the fine things that had come into her possession over the years that had been bought with his money."

"I don't believe this."

"Believe it, Brother. Or, shall I say, Half-Brother." He grinned, his eyes just a bit too wide, a little too wild. "I guess it should have been obvious from the start, I mean, who has this hair color in our family? Who has these eyes? Hell, I don't even have the family _nose_, which you and Delilah both seemed to have inherited."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I always thought that you resembled someone on Mother's side of the family."

"Apparently, I take after my own father." Thomas pulled a crumpled piece of parchment out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Nathaniel. "If you don't believe me, then perhaps Mother's word will shed some light on the subject."

Nathaniel scanned the letter, recognizing his mother's elegant writing instantly. Phrases like _he was a wandering minstrel_ and _we didn't mean for it to happen, but we fell in love_ flew off the page and hit him square in the gut. _We were planning on running off together when Rendon found out._ "Well, this explains some things that I've been wondering," Nathaniel mused, stunned. He grabbed his cup and wished that he had gotten something stronger than water. "Whatever happened to him?" Now all the questions as to why Father had grown distant after Thomas' birth were answered.

"Read further. Your father found out about them and killed my father in front of Mother." He swallowed more of the liquid from his flask. "She says that it was slow and that Rendon enjoyed every moment of it."

Nathaniel frowned and shook his head in denial. "No, that's impossible. Father would _never_ do such a thing, no matter how angry he would have been. He is a good man, a decent man."

"I don't believe it either. If your father…"

"_Our father._" Just because he hadn't fathered Thomas didn't make him any less of a parent, in Nathaniel's eyes.

"Fine. If _our_ father had truly been so cruel, he could have done away with me once I was born. If he had truly killed a man in cold blood, then what would have stopped him from doing the same to me any number of times as a child?" He gazed at his flask and set it on the table. "I knew from an early age that I was not loved by him, that you were his favorite. I was fine with that because you never lost a chance to let me know that I was loved by you at the very least. Delilah didn't get much attention either, and now I think it was because Father had lost all trust in women."

"Especially women that he had once loved." Father's words from the day that Nathaniel had announced he would ask for Moira's hand came back to him. _Love __has a way of betraying you when you least expect it, of taking everything that you ever thought was good and turning it against you._ "He must have expected the same from Delilah, which is why he decided to avoid her first before she turned on him. Oh, Father." Nathaniel looked at Thomas. "Do you resent me?" he wondered, thinking over Thomas' admission that he had known that Nathaniel was their father's favored son.

"Resent you? Of course not! It seems as if old Daddy has some plans - some big ones - in store for you." Thomas laughed and teetered in his seat. "And he's been thoughtful enough not to leave me out of them! You remember Anora, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Well, I hope you liked her, because you're going to get to know her pretty well once you return." He stood up and gave Nathaniel a shaky bow. "Your Majesty."

"What are you talking about? Anora is married to Cailan."

"Not for long." Thomas' voice had developed a sing-song tone. "Poor dear. She was always too rigid and 'let's abide by the rules' for me. It's a damned shame that she'll have to be widowed for so long before you can swoop on in."

Nathaniel reached out and grabbed Thomas' wrist, dragging his brother back into his seat. "You speak of _treason_, little brother," he hissed. "You're drunk; you don't know what you're saying."

"All I know is what I've overheard. I'm to be Arl and _you're_ to marry the Queen."

"You need some air." There were far too many people in the tavern that might have overheard their conversation. "And for the record, I'm to marry Moira."

Thomas snagged his flask and downed the remainder of the contents. "Hah! Like that'll ever happen. Dutiful Nate; you'll do whatever Father tells you without question because that's what you've been brought up to do." He stumbled out of the tavern with Nathaniel's help and laughed. "He has you well trained, just like he would a hound." Whatever merriment his inebriation had brought about was gone and Nathaniel was struck dumb at how vicious and bitter his little brother's – that sweet, gentle _I want to be just like you when I grow up_ boy Nathaniel had left behind – voice had become. "I guess that makes me a hound as well, and a bastard one at that. I should be grateful that my master has finally thought to bring me inside out of the cold."

Nathaniel knew the green cast Thomas' skin had taken wasn't any good and he managed to steer him into an alley before he vomited all over the common travel lanes. He grimaced; he might have been quick enough to avoid a public spectacle, but he hadn't been quick enough to save his boots from getting splashed. "We need to talk about this some more," he said quietly, holding his brother upright while he retched. "We'll speak tomorrow morning once you're sober."

"My ship leaves back for Amaranthine in the morning," Thomas managed to gasp, his face red and tears in his eyes. "Moira is a pretty girl, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is."

"And you love her, don't you?"

"I do."

Thomas was leaning heavily against Nathaniel's side. "I'm so sorry, Nathaniel," he slurred, his voice growing sleepy. "I'm so sorry that it all has to come about this way."

Nathaniel was going to ask him what he meant when he realized that Thomas had passed out. Sighing, he knocked on the Tavern's back door.

"I was wondering how long it would take him to do that," Rose said quietly. "I already made sure that his things were put in the first room on the right." She looked down at Nathaniel's boots and wrinkled her nose. "You'd better leave those here before you head on up. I'll see to them."

Nathaniel thanked her and once he had left his boots in the entryway, he hauled Thomas up a short flight of stairs to the rooms Rose's husband kept open for rent whenever the inn across the way was full. Grunting, he dropped his brother onto the bed and knelt to slip his shoes off. He stood back up and as he bent to wrestle his brother's soiled shirt over his head, the necklace Nathaniel always wore slipped out of his tunic. He paused, watching as the gold band swung on the chain. Frowning, he shook his head. Father would never do something as radical as arranging for Nathaniel to marry another, not when he knew that Nathaniel's heart was already spoken for and _certainly_ not when the woman in question was already married to the King. Thomas must have been mistaken, or else he must have imagined it.

Nathaniel took the time to clean his brother's face with a dampened towel. Now that the truth was out, the differences between them were obvious. _Your father must have been a handsome man,_ Nathaniel thought, staring down at Thomas' square jaw and high cheekbones. _And it is no wonder Father grew to hate Mother, and how Mother had seemed to detest Father in return._ Would he have reacted in the same manner, should he ever find Moira with another? _No. For one, Moira would never run to another; it's not in her nature to be that way. And two, I will never give her a reason to ever look for love with someone else._ His frown deepened. Had Father given Mother a reason for her infidelity? Nathaniel knew that his father wasn't the warmest man when it came to showing affection, but that was no reason for Mother to do what she did. And Nathaniel could clearly remember that there had been a time when the two of them _had_ been happy.

"What happened between the two of you?" he wondered out loud, carefully running his fingers through his brother's hair. Thomas didn't stir and Nathaniel was struck by how he looked just then. There were dark smudges underneath his eyes and even in repose, Nathaniel could see lines formed from frowning too often. Thomas was still far too young to wear his cares on his face as he now did.

"Your boots are behind the bar," Rose said when Nathaniel came back downstairs. By the time that he had finished getting Thomas situated, the tavern had cleared out considerably.

"Thanks again," he told her, pulling out several silver pieces to pay for Thomas' room.

She waved him off. "Your money's no good here, you know that, Howe."

"At least let me pay you for cleaning my shoes."

She rolled her eyes. "Like I haven't done the same a thousand times before for other people. It's part of the territory when you work in a place like I do."

"You are a saint. I mean that; you're far too kind for your own good."

"As are you. I take it that Pretty Boy really was your brother?"

"Yes."

Rose quit mopping the bar with her dishrag for a while. "Is everything all right? You don't look so good."

"No, I just have a lot on my mind." Like, for instance, the fact that he was more upset about his father being betrayed than his mother's abrupt departure.

"You think far too much, Howe."

"Someone has to or else nothing would get done around here." He yawned as a way to get out of the conversation. "It's late. I'll be by early tomorrow morning to see him off. Thomas said that his ship leaves for Ferelden in the morning."

"There is one leaving around eight, that's probably the one that he was talking about."

"Then I'll be sure to get him out of your hair before then."

The walk back to his quarters was quiet, but Nathaniel had way too many questions running through his head to enjoy the silence like he usually did. He made his way inside and sat at his writing desk in the dark for a moment before lighting a candle. Nathaniel had meant to write his father, to inform him of Thomas' whereabouts and to ask for his side of Mother's sudden disappearance, but it was Moira's name that he wrote. He went on for several pages without telling her of what he had just learned, asking about the goings on in Highever instead. He brought out the latest letter that she had written him for reference, smiling fondly at the clear, neat handwriting that often left small dots of ink on the page when she wrote too quickly; her mind going faster than her hand would allow. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, almost feeling the way that her arms would have wrapped around his shoulders from behind and how she would have pressed a kiss to his cheek.

_I have a request for you,_ he wrote._ If possible, could you find a way to visit Delilah and Thomas at the Keep? I've been away for so long that I feel as if I hardly know the people they're becoming. I still imagine Delilah as a fifteen-year-old girl instead of a young lady of nineteen and it almost seems impossible that Thomas would be sixteen now._

_I miss them. I would also ask if you could spend some time in Thomas' company. I've recently heard from him and it seems as if he could use some cheering up._ He sighed as he wrote that last bit. Moira always had a way with Thomas ever since he had been a boy. Perhaps he would open up to her about whatever he may have misheard their father saying.

_I miss you. I know I don't write it often enough, but there isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about you._ He wrote a little bit more before ending the letter, folding it up into a waxy envelope that would survive sea travel. Writing done, he stretched out on his narrow bed and stared up at the ceiling.

He didn't get much sleep that night.

In the morning, he went straight to the tavern to greet his brother. Thomas was awake, but hardly in the mood to move about. "Drink this," Nathaniel said, handing him a vial of black liquid that was a surefire cure for hangovers. Thomas had gagged and looked as if he were about to be ill, but he held the potion down.

"About last night," Thomas started, his face pale. "I…"

Nathaniel waved him off. "Don't worry about it."

"You were the first person I thought of going to. I…" he swallowed. "I don't want you to think poorly of me."

Nathaniel held onto his shoulders. "Thomas, I would never think poorly of you. You're my brother; nothing can ever change that."

He sucked in a ragged sounding breath. "I'm so glad you feel that way." They made their way down to the docks where Thomas' ship was already boarding. "About what you said, are you truly going to marry Moira?"

He nodded. "It's still largely a secret, but yes, I am. I haven't properly asked for her hand yet, but she's agreed to our match."

Thomas' eyes were thoughtful and it seemed as if he were going to say something. "I wish you two much happiness then," he said instead. "I've always cared for her. You might think it foolish of me, but I've had a bit of a crush on Moira for years. It makes me glad to know that she's to marry a man like you."

"That means a lot to me, Thomas." He handed his brother his satchel. "I meant what I said; you're still my brother. It doesn't matter if we have different fathers. I will always feel the same way I do about you and I hope that you know that I'll always be there when you need me."

Thomas embraced him. "I couldn't ask for a better brother," he said. "And know that I would never do anything to sabotage your happiness. I would rather be disowned and dead before that. I mean that, I really do."

Nathaniel gave his shoulder a pat. "I know you do. Maker, it's so strange to see you almost as tall as myself. The last time I saw you, you barely came up to my chest. It made for putting you in a headlock easy." The mood was in serious need of levity. He smirked. "I bet I still could, though I'll refrain in light of your headache."

Thomas laughed and there, _there_ was the little brother he had left in Amaranthine. "No doubt you could. Shall I give everyone your love?"

"If you wouldn't mind. And could you also see that this gets to Moira?" He pulled the letter out of his doublet and handed it to Thomas.

"Secret love letters?" The teasing tone was back in his voice.

"Something like that."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Shall I also give her your love when I see her?"

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and shoved him good-naturedly. "Keep that to yourself."

Thomas laughed before growing serious. "I might ask to see if I could spend a while in Highever. There are things that I need time to think over that are best done away from Amaranthine."

"Do what you feel you need to do, but at least tell Father and Delilah where you're going. And make certain to write more when you return home!"

Thomas waved him off as he got aboard the ship. "Nag, nag." His tone might have been complaining, but he had a soft smile on his face. "Perhaps I shall come visit you again!"

"I hope you do!" Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Thomas' ship took off from the harbor. Thomas stayed on the deck long enough to wave one last time at him before heading off out of sight.

_Be well, little brother,_ Nathaniel thought as a chill went down his spine. He felt strange, standing there in the weak morning light, almost as if this was the last time that he would ever see Thomas again. He shook his head, chalking the feeling up to a lack of sleep, before turning around and heading back into town.


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Someone Like You, chapter 10  
Rating: R for violence, implied adult situations, character deaths, language – big, gigantic spoilers for Human Noble Origin.  
Summary: "For if faith will abide, love will survive to make the world right again" – Author Unknown  
Note: This was done for ten_by_ten's "quote" prompt, the quote in question is also doing double duty as this chapter's summary. I paraphrased a lot of the in-game dialogue, or else I left out some of it completely or swapped around which character said what. This was also one of the hardest chapters to write, not only because action scenes and I go together like oil and water, but because I've grown to really like all these characters and 'the end' is always hard for me to write. There's also an extended author's note at the very end.

* * *

"My lady!"

Moira turned from the weapons stand and dusted her hands off on the skirt of her leather armor. It was still warm for an early fall afternoon and she had spent the majority of the time in the training circle with some of her father's knights. "What is it, Alice?" she asked, watching as the maid picked her way through the dirt and gravel grounds, a bundle of papers in her hand.

"Two things, my lady," she said, handing her an envelope.

Moira smiled. "It's a letter from Nathaniel," she said, noticing the wax seal on the envelope. "He hasn't had a chance to write to me in months." She had to actually stop herself from sitting down and reading, especially when she saw the way that Alice shifted from foot to foot. "What was the other thing?"

"Your father requested your presence in the Great Hall. Arl Howe and his men have finally arrived."

Moira's smile dimmed and she looked down at herself. She definitely didn't have any time to change out of her training gear and she knew that her hair looked a mess. Carefully folding Nathaniel's letter in half, she tucked it into her cuirass for later reading. She thanked the maid and made her way from the garrison towards the Great Hall, redoing the messy bun at the base of her head as best as she could and wiping the smudges of dirt off her hands along the way.

Moira's father turned around just in time to see her enter the Hall through one of the side doors. "Ah, there you are, my dear."

"Father." Smiling warmly, she gave a low curtsey. "Arl Howe, it is always a pleasure to see you again."

Rendon returned her smile. "As it is to see you. You've grown even lovelier since the last time I've visited."

She looked down demurely. "Are Delilah and Thomas with you?"

"No, I left them at home in Amaranthine. They do send their regards though, Thomas in particular. He has grown quite fond of you; he often speaks of last spring's faire in Denerim. You seem to have made quite the impression on him."

Moira tilted her head, not really knowing what to say to that. "Thomas is a dear friend of mine. I'm so glad that he remembers time we spend together well."

"Pup, I've asked that you come here for a reason," Bryce said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "As you're aware, your brother and I are to ride to Ostagar. Rendon's main forces have been delayed a bit due to poor weather, but Fergus will be heading out tonight with our own soldiers as well as the contingent that's here."

"And when are you to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'm only leaving a token force here in Highever, and they shall be under your command."

Moira's eyes widened. "Mine? But…"

"No buts." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "My dear girl, out of all the people here, I trust you the most to take over while your brother and I are gone. Highever will be in good hands until I return, I am sure of it."

She stood up straighter. "I will do my best then," she said, swallowing hard.

Bryce smiled. "That's what I like to hear. I'd like for you to find your brother and let him know of the change in plans, but before that, I have a guest that I would like to introduce you to." He signaled to one of the attendants to show their guest in. "Pup, this is Duncan. You do recall who the Grey Wardens were from your studies, don't you?"

It seemed that Duncan was to be their guest for a while as he went about Highever to look for Warden recruits. Moira mentioned Ser Gilmore's name, but Duncan had looked at her thoughtfully and said that she herself would make a good candidate. Bryce had stepped in though, saying that it was bad enough that he was already offering his son to the fight, that he would rather his daughter stay out of it. Duncan had agreed, leaving Moira feeling slightly relieved for some reason. They chatted briefly before Moira bid them farewell.

She was in the middle of heading towards her room to change in to something a little more presentable when she ran into Ser Gilmore himself. He told her that her mother had sent him out to search for her; her Mabari had gotten into the kitchen larders yet again and Nan was in the middle of a grand fit. Moira winced, hoping that Quinn hadn't gotten into the meat supply like he had the last time. Nan had given both her and her dog the cold shoulder after that incident, especially since Quinn had attacked the smoked sausages and dried beef before he had moved onto the ham. After calming Nan down a little, both she and Roland had gone into the larder, only to find Quinn bristling and growling at enormous rats.

"Giant rats! It's like every beginning to the adventure stories my father used to tell me as a boy," Roland exclaimed, curling his lip in distaste after they had finished dispatching the vermin.

Moira grimaced, wiping her dagger against the fur of one of the dead rodents. "I just wish it wasn't this messy. Who would have thought that something this size would bleed so much?"

"Well, we can't have you going to your mother in this condition, milady. She'd have a fit, especially since she's touring the gardens with Lady Landra and her son."

Moira groaned. "Maker, please tell me that she isn't trying to shove her son at me _again_."

Roland laughed. "You would think that you'd be pleased to have the undivided attentions of a young nobleman."

She rolled her eyes. "Not this one. Besides, I do believe he and his mother's lady-in-waiting have an on again, off again arrangement. I'll be able to tell by how much he flirts with me what their status is." She sighed, absently scratching behind Quinn's ears. "Lady Landra is very kind and she's one of Mother's dearest friends, but I do wish that she'd get the hint that I'm not interested in Dairren." The letter resting against her breast crinkled, and Moira wanted nothing more than a chance to sit alone and enjoy Nathaniel's words. The two of them informed Nan as to what the commotion was and headed towards one of the servants' bathing areas.

"I look a mess," Moira moaned, wiping blood specks off her cheek with a damp cloth.

"At least you weren't wearing a dress," Roland offered, wiping off smears of blood from the back of her armor. "It would have been ruined otherwise."

She snorted. "Trust me to be appropriately clothed for one thing and entirely inappropriate for another. I had to greet Arl Howe and our guest wearing this."

He clucked his tongue. "Not quite the look that you were going for, was it?"

"Not at all. Did you know about the Grey Warden that's going to be staying with us?"

Roland shrugged. "I had heard something, yes."

"He's looking for recruits. I mentioned your name."

Roland looked at her, opened his mouth, and then shut it again. "I…thank you, my lady. I appreciate the effort, but I don't think that I would like to become a Warden."

"Why not? Becoming a Grey Warden is an honor; they only take the best, or so I'm told."

"And you think I'm the best?"

"I _know_ that you're the best Highever has to offer."

Roland smiled at her. "I'm pleased that you think so, but I'd rather spend my life guarding those that I hold dear. Highever is my home; there is no other place that I would rather be than here." He held up his hand before she could protest. "I know, I know. Wardens protect all of Ferelden, so technically I would still be protecting Highever, but to me that isn't the same thing. I made an oath to your father and I intend on keeping it." Quirking an eyebrow, he leaned against the washbasin. "Sorry, but you're not getting rid of me that easily."

Moira laughed. "Oh, like I'd _want_ to see you leave, Rory. You're one of my best friends here. I just want the best for you. You're such a good warrior; others should be able to see your talents as well."

"If you're so interested in speaking to this Duncan on my behalf, then why haven't you said a word about joining yourself? If you think that I'd make a good Warden, I happen to think that you'd make a decent one as well."

Her smile fell. "Father forbids it. Besides, I'm not certain that I would _want_ to be one. I mean, if any more of Mother's friends keep on throwing their sons at my feet, what's to say that they would even want a Warden for a wife?" The thought had briefly crossed Moira's mind, but then she remembered that she had the rest of her life planned out already. In her opinion, marriage to the man she loved and a future in Amaranthine outweighed becoming a Warden any day.

"If any more of your mother's friends keep throwing their sons at your feet, I think I'd like front row seats to the temper tantrum that would be sure to follow." He rolled up the cloth he had been using to wipe his own face and smacked her arm with it. "I'm sure that it would be entertaining."

"Hey! I haven't had a temper tantrum since I was a little girl!"

"Which means that you're far overdue for one."

She turned her nose up. "Ladies do not throw tantrums."

He snorted. "Since when have you ever acted like a lady?"

Moira rolled her eyes. "On that note, I think I'm presentable enough to inform Mother that Quinn is out of the larder and that he's quite sorry for causing such a scene." She knelt down in front of her dog. "You i_are_/i sorry for causing such a scene, aren't you?" The tone she asked the question in was stern and Quinn lowered his head and gave an affirmative sounding whine, his ears flattening across his skull in a defeated manner.

"Then I shall see you later. Rumor has it that you'll be taking command while your father and brother are away. Is that true?"

"It is." She still couldn't believe that her father would put such trust in her. She just hoped that she wouldn't disappoint him.

"Then tell me, do acting Teyrnas still make their morning sparring matches, or are they too high and mighty to mingle in with the common folk?"

She shoved at his shoulder good-naturedly. "Acting Teyrnas are often seen in the sparring ring, but it's a social faux pas to allow them to get their asses handed to them. Very unseemly for the knight who does it, I might add."

"Perhaps if you practiced more with a shield instead of two blades then you'd be able to stand up to me better."

Moira stuck her tongue out at him. "Perhaps if you'd let me _win_ one of these times, then I'd consider it."

"What's the point of _letting_ you win?"

"All these years and I still keep getting bruises in strange places whenever we fight."

Roland steered her towards the door. "And as I keep on saying, you need to learn how to move faster! Now go see your mother before she sends out a search party. I shall see you tomorrow morning, bright and early. I like to get my ass kickings in before breakfast."

Moira shook her head and whistled for Quinn to follow. The Mabari went a few paces ahead of her, his little stub of a tail wagging. "Keep out of places where you know you're not supposed to go and I promise I'll find you a nice, tasty ham bone. What do you say to that, Boy?"

Quinn tilted his head and barked. "I know, I know. You were just trying to protect the larder from those awful rats; and you did a good job at that, I might add, but could you at least get me or Rory instead next time? You _know_ how Nan gets." Moira stopped in her tracks when she heard her mother's voice. "Maker, Dairren is with them. Okay Quinn, you know the rules: no barking, biting, or slobbering on our guests. I don't care how much you don't like him; we have to keep up appearances."

Quinn let out a low growl. "Oh, don't be like that," Moira said, her tone exasperated. "Play nice and I promise you not only a ham bone, but a fresh length of rope first thing tomorrow. Do we have a deal?"

Quinn barked in reply and ran around his mistress. Moira smoothed the sides of her hair one last time before straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath. Thankfully, the pleasantries that she had to endure were short; Lady Landra quickly excused herself for a nap before dinner and Dairren and Iona retired to the study.

"I worry about Father," Moira confessed once she and her mother were alone.

Her mother's brows drew together. "As do I, my darling. Bryce forgets that he isn't what he once was when he last went to battle; his mind might still be as sharp as the day that I met him, but his body isn't that of a young man, no matter how much he keeps up with his swordsmanship."

"I wish that I could go with them."

"And leave Highever alone? No, your place is here."

Moira's eyes flashed defiantly. "I'm as good with a blade as Fergus. I could…"

"I know how skilled you are. It is one of the reasons your father decided on putting you in charge while he was away." Eleanor reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. "You're as strong mentally as you are physically. Our knights and the rest of Highever listen to you just as they would to your father. We need that sort of continuity to see us through until Bryce returns."

"I don't want to disappoint anyone."

"My dear, you've never disappointed either of us before. You'll do fine." Eleanor gave her a wistful smile. "I love you very much. You know that, don't you?"

"And I love you too." On impulse, Moira stepped closer and gave her mother a hug. "Whatever brought this on?"

"I guess I'm in a sentimental mood. My babies are all grown up; Fergus joins your father in battle and you're taking over the teyrnir. You'll understand how I feel once you have children of your own. One minute they're barely learning to crawl and the next they're taller than you and living their own life." She smoothed her hand over Moira's hair. "It seems like just yesterday I was scolding you two for running about the castle in bare feet and being caked in mud."

"That _was_ yesterday. Oren and Fergus had just returned from playing in the woods."

Eleanor laughed. "Fergus does so well with Oren. My grandson couldn't wish for a better father."

"Speaking of Fergus, do you happen to know where he's at? Father wanted me to give him a message."

"What was the message?"

"It seems as if we're to have Father with us for one last night. The Arl's men were detained. He wants Fergus to get a head start with our men and what few Arl Rendon brought with him."

Eleanor frowned. "That seems odd. Did Rendon mention why they were detained?"

"He said that the roads are horrible between here and Amaranthine. He'd kept his forces working on fortifying his own borders too long and wound up getting caught in the poor weather. He said that they were only a day behind, so once they arrive, he and Father will lead them to Ostagar."

Eleanor squeezed Moira's hands. "You'd better let your brother know then. He should be up in his room, spending some last minute time with Oriana and Oren."

Moira left her mother and went up to the family wing of the castle. She paused at the doorway to her brother's room when she heard her sister-in-law sniffle.

"Dry your eyes, my love," Fergus was quietly telling her, tilting his wife's chin up so he could look her in the eye. "I'll be home before you know it; this doesn't sound like a true Blight, merely a small raid."

"I'll miss you," Oriana said, smoothing her hands over his chest plate. "We've never been apart before."

Fergus stroked the side of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I swear we won't be apart for long. And who knows, I might find a pretty necklace or something else on my travels to bring back to you."

She shook her head. "I'd rather have you back safe and sound than all the jewels in the world."

"Will you bring me back a sword, Papa?" Oren piped up.

Fergus laughed and crouched down to his son's eye level. "Of course. I'll get the best sword I can find, just for you, my boy."

"I want to go with you, Papa. I could carry your armor in camp."

"No doubt you'd be the most capable squire I could have, but I need you to stay here at home." He ruffled his son's hair. "Mama needs you to be brave and strong and protect her while I'm gone. Can you do that?"

"I can! Will you beat a lot of dark…dark…"

"Darkspawn, Oren."

"Yeah, those! Will you beat a lot of them for us?"

Fergus nodded and stood up. "I will beat a million of them, all for you."

Oriana wrung her hands. "I worry about you, Fergus," she said.

Moira decided to come to her brother's rescue. "Don't worry, Oriana; no darkspawn could ever defeat Fergus." She wrapped her arms around her brother's waist. "His skull's far too thick for them to injure."

"Ah, there's the Moira that I know and love. I'll miss you, little sister."

"Father sends word that you're to go without him and Arl Rendon. They shall catch up to you and our army tomorrow."

Fergus groaned. "The Arl's men are delayed again? You would think that they were walking backwards."

"I wish that I could go with you." Moira quirked an eyebrow. "Here you go again, leaving me behind while you go off an adventure. I'm almost jealous."

"I wish you could go as well. It would be fun to fight side by side."

Oriana shook her head. "In Antiva, a woman taking up arms is practically unheard of."

Fergus raised an eyebrow, his expression mirroring his sister's. "I don't know, Love. I was under the impression that Antivan women were quite dangerous."

"Only with kindness and poison, husband. We tend to leave the less subtle methods of aggression to the men."

He grinned. "And here I've been letting you bring me tea for the past six years!"

Oriana smiled back in return. "Don't worry, _caro mio_. We only poison the ones we don't like."

Fergus wrapped his arms around his wife. "Then I'm glad that I'm on the list of men that you do care for. At any rate, I wish that these darkspawn had better scheduling; think of me while you're here warm and snug in the castle while I trudge around in freezing conditions."

Oriana rolled her eyes. "I'm so pleased that you'll be miserable. Just come back safely to us."

"And with a sword! Auntie, will you teach me how to use one?"

Moira laughed. "You bet! Then we can both take on Ser Gilmore and the other knights."

"There are times that I don't know about your family, Fergus," Oriana murmured, her head on her husband's shoulder as she watched her son play with his aunt. "The next thing I know, I'm going to be raising a heathen while you're away."

"Oh, it's not so bad. Look at the two of us; we ran about like hellions all the time and we turned out all right." He sighed and bent his head to hers. "In all truthfulness, I am going to miss the both of you dearly. I don't know how I'll manage to sleep without you there at my side."

Oriana took something out of her pocket and pressed it into Fergus' palm. "Here, I wanted to give this to you before you left. It will keep you safe."

"This is your locket. I can't take it."

"Yes you can. I had it enchanted with several protection spells. I'll sleep better at night knowing that there was something I could do to help you while you're away."

Fergus thumbed open the catch and glanced down at the miniature portrait of his family inside. "Then I shall never take it off." He slipped the chain over his head and tucked the pendant underneath his armor. "I love you. I'll count the days until I can come back home."

"Eeew, Papa! Kissing is awful!"

Fergus smirked, hugging Oriana tighter. "Don't be so quick to judge, Son. One day you might not find it so repulsive." He bent and scooped Oren up in one arm, landing a smacking kiss on his son's cheek that caused Oren to fall into a fit of giggles. "Well, I'd best be off then. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time to do it in."

Their parents came in a little while after, and as a family, Moira bid Fergus farewell. "Everything will be all right," she said, holding onto Oriana's hand.

Oriana leaned against her and wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I hope that you're right."

* * *

"Tell me another story about the Black Fox," Oren said, settling in his bed.

Moira put the book of stories away. She smoothed her hand fondly over the leather cover, remembering how she used to ask her own father for just one more story before bedtime when she had been a girl. "Not tonight. We all have a busy day tomorrow; you need your rest." She tucked the covers in around Oren's shoulders and ran her fingers through his hair. "Little knights-in-training must get a proper amount of sleep if they want to do well in the practice ring."

"Are you really going to show me how to use a sword and a shield just like Papa does?"

"Maybe not just like your father. Don't you want to learn how to use a sword and dagger instead?"

Oren shook his head. "No. I've been asking Ser Gilmore to teach me how to use a shield."

Moira smirked. _Ah, so now I understand what Rory was talking about when he said he was being pestered by someone even more persistent than me. _"And what have you learned?"

"I learned that I can't lift his shield."

"Well, the thing is almost as big as you are. Truthfully, I can't lift it either. It's far too heavy."

"But he and Papa make it look easy!"

"It might be easy for them, just like two blades are easier for me."

"But only _girls_ use two daggers."

"Nathaniel isn't a girl and he uses two daggers whenever he's not using his bow."

Oren frowned. "Who's Nathaniel?"

"He's a very special friend of mine. He'll be coming home in a few years; you'll be able to meet him then." She stood up from her seat at his bedside. "I think you'll like him."

Oren made a face. "You look like Mama does whenever she looks at Papa. You don't _kiss_ this Nathaniel, do you?"

She laughed. "Your father was right; once you get a little older, you'll understand what the big deal all this kissing stuff is." Leaning over, she kissed her nephew's forehead. "Good night, my sweet boy."

"Auntie?"

"What is it?"

"What if the castle is attacked while Papa is away?"

Moira sat down on the edge of the bed. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know. Anything can happen. Dragons can come swoop down and burn us all up."

Moira reached out and held onto Oren's hand. "If dragons attack the castle, I will keep you safe."

"Do you promise?"

"I'll keep you safe no matter what, I promise. I'll fight them all myself before I let them get you." She smirked. "I'll even let you keep a tooth or a claw from every dragon I kill, just to prove that I did."

"I'd rather have dragon scales," Oren said, yawning. "They're shiny."

Moira blew out the candle at the bedside. "Then you shall have all the dragon scales that I come across. Sleep well."

She stood at his doorway for a while, watching as Oren rolled over onto his side. She left his door open just a little crack so that the torchlight from the hall would spill in and give his room a bit of illumination. At five, Oren was still in the phase where he was afraid of the dark, but he was gradually growing out of it.

Moira went to her own bedroom where she found Quinn already lounging on top of her bed, chewing happily at the new hank of rope that she had promised him. He gave her a cursory glance as she went behind her painted changing screen to get out of her dress from dinner and into a nightgown and robe before giving his new toy his full attention. She sat down at her vanity and ran a brush through her hair before plaiting it into a thick braid over her shoulder, eyeing the envelope she had put on her vanity earlier that evening. Finally alone, she worked her fingernail underneath the red blob of wax on the envelope until she broke the seal. She was about to start reading when someone tapped at her bedroom door.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" her father asked, cautiously poking his head in the doorway.

She put the letter aside. "No, of course not."

He gestured towards the folded pages. "I see that young Nathaniel is still in the habit of writing you."

"Yes. He hasn't had a chance to write often, but I'm glad that he still keeps in touch." She couldn't help the way that her cheeks reddened. All this time, she'd never told her parents of her relationship with Nathaniel and it was eating at her to continue to omit certain truths from them. "It's been several months since his last letter."

"Rendon has spoken to me in great detail about his sons recently, Thomas in particular," Bryce began. "Both of them are fine lads; a girl couldn't find a better man to marry."

"Thomas? Father, I love him as if he were the little brother I never had. I could never see him as someone I'd marry."

Bryce sat at the foot of her bed, his hand scratching behind Quinn's ears. "And what of Nathaniel? Do you love him the same way?"

"I…" she swallowed. "No, I don't love Nathaniel as if he were a brother. Truthfully, I've never seen him as such."

"But you _do_ care for him, don't you?"

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I do, very much. He's a dear friend of mine." She turned in her chair until she was facing him. "What's brought all this on, Father? You've never taken an interest in my suitors before."

He shrugged. "There's a large difference between holding my tongue and not taking an interest," he said. "For example, I could have said a great deal of things tonight during dinner."

Moira sighed and slumped in her seat. "I do wish that you would have. One more false compliment out of Dairren and I swear I was going to stab my dinner knife into my ears just so I wouldn't have to hear anything else."

"Back to the matter at hand," Bryce said. "Besides being a friend of yours, do you think that you'd ever have romantic feelings for Nathaniel?"

Moira got up and went to go sit next to her father. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Darling, you're twenty-four years of age and unmarried. Your mother and I have done the best that we can to fend off suitors who we know you wouldn't be happy with as a husband, with the exception of Lady Landra's son. That woman is tenacious to a fault and won't take a hint either of us give." He reached out and slung his arm over Moira's shoulder, gently tugging until she was leaning against him. "There will come a time when we can't fend off marriage arrangements any longer. Our family is friends with the Howes. Amaranthine is a prosperous arling, one where I hope that you'd be happy living in. Nathaniel is a fine young man and I've seen over the years what good companions the two of you are. He's to return soon and I would like to take this opportunity while I'm together with his father to speak of an engagement contract between the two of you."

Her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest. "How long have you thought of this?"

"Oh, for some time. Yet I won't say a word to Rendon if you tell me now that you're against this match."

"No!" She cleared her throat. "I mean, I _have_ thought of the possibility of being matched up with Nate once he comes back. I've thought of it often. And I _do_ have very strong feelings for him." Loving Nathaniel with all her heart was her definition of having strong feelings for him. "How can you be certain that Nathaniel will share the same sentiment?" _She_ knew that he did, but she was aware that her father was in the dark when it came to their relationship.

"How can he not? You're a beautiful, smart, capable woman. _Any_ man would be lucky to have you."

She giggled. "You're biased."

"That I may be, but I also speak the truth." He hugged her and pressed a kiss against the crown of her hair. "I want only the best for you. Marriage is not something that should be entered into lightly, nor should it just be a political statement. Your mother and I were paired for similar reasons and I was fortunate enough that while we might have had an arranged marriage due to my standing as Teyrn, Eleanor and I were also a love match. There is no one else in this world that I could ever think of spending my life with other than your mother; I want you to have that same feeling with whomever you decide to marry."

"You two have completely spoiled me when it comes to marriage. I've grown up watching you both and I don't want to settle for anything less." She snuggled closer to her father. "I think that it would be very easy for me to love Nathaniel and I hope that after all the years that we've spent together that he could say the same."

"Then it would please you for me to speak with Rendon?"

She broke out into a brilliant smile. "Yes. It would please me greatly."

"I know that we still have some time before Nathaniel comes home, but I'm going to miss you once you're gone. In a way, I'm glad that you said yes; Amaranthine is only two days' travel from here. We'll be able to see you often." Bryce pulled back a bit. "I love both you and your brother very much, but it's no secret that fathers often care more for their daughters."

Moira grinned. "Is that your subtle way of telling me that I've always been your favorite?"

He grinned back. "Don't say a word to Fergus, but yes."

"My lips are sealed. Do you really think that I can take over the teyrnir while you're away?"

"I don't see why not. You and Fergus have both been taught over the years what it takes to rule over Highever; I have the utmost confidence that not only will you do fine, but should something actually happen in my absence that you'll be able to see to the matter in the same way that I would have."

"Knowing the rules and acting them out are two entirely different things, Father."

"Yet knowing how to run a teyrnir and knowing how to run an arling are exactly the same, just on a larger scale. Nathaniel is to eventually become Arl; he'll need a strong Arlessa at his side. Think of this as practice. I remember our Nate having a level head on his shoulders. He would be wise to seek your counsel in certain affairs."

"I'm going to miss you so much while you're away," Moira told him.

"Just as I'm going to miss you."

"Make certain that you use liniment on your shield arm; you know how your shoulder aches after a good practice session. And change your socks often; with the way that the weather has been and all the walking that you're bound to do in the south, you're likely to develop blisters otherwise."

Bryce laughed. "Now you're starting to sound more like your mother." He hugged her again. "I promise that I'll keep my creaky joints well medicated, routinely change my socks, and eat at every meal. Does that make you happy?"

"Just return safely to us, Papa."

He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "Moira, I do believe that's the first time I've heard you call me that in years."

"I must have caught the sentimental mood Mama's been in."

"Well, I had better let you get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow, Pup." He winked at her. "Since you're back to calling me 'Papa', shall I tuck you into bed as I used to when you were a little girl? Are there any armoires that need checking for ghosts? While I'm here, should I look under your bed for monsters, ruffians, and the other sorts of villainy your imagination used to conjure up?"

"No, that's quite all right," she said, smiling up at him. "I think that I'll stay up just a little while longer to read Nate's letter, but then I'll head to bed."

"I have a few things I'd like to talk to Rendon about before turning in myself." Bryce kissed her forehead. "Good night, then. I love you, my darling girl."

Tears sprang up unexpectedly, making her throat tight. "I love you too. Good night."

"Did you hear that, Quinn?" Moira asked, hopping up on her knees once she was certain that she was alone and her father was out of earshot. Quinn looked up at her questioningly but panted happily when she rubbed the sides of his face. "I'm to officially marry Nate! I can't wait to tell him!" She jumped off the bed and spun on her toes to her vanity, not even bothering to smother the happy, girlish squeal that spilled from her lips. She was halfway tempted to put the letter aside for further reading, to write the news to him instead while it was still bubbling around inside of her, but she thought against it.

_Dearest Moira,_ his letter read. _Forgive my lapse in writing to you; I've been away these past months on a scouting mission on the borders of Antiva. There's not much that I can openly report about, save that the weather was beautiful. I often caught myself wishing that you were there with me to experience the sun and sandy beaches. To think that fall is beginning to arrive and it still feels like a summer day! Once I return, we must visit the land. The language is strange and difficult to understand and many people are either assassins or involved with some political cell or another, but there is a fierce beauty there that takes one's breath away._

"Perhaps we can go on our honeymoon," she murmured, tracing his letters with her fingertips as her cheeks began to ache from smiling so wide.

_How are things at home? You said in your last letter that your nephew is beginning to take an interest in the Black Fox. Now where have I heard that name before? Tell me, do you still run about the forest pretending to be him or has the tide turned and you've found yourself as Karolis instead? No doubt that whatever the role, Fergus is likely to wind up getting hit with a rock by either you or his son. Speaking of Fergus, even after all these years, I still can't wrap my head around your brother being a father; it boggles the mind._

_I have good news. In my last letter to you, I said that my commanding officer wasn't certain that I'd be able to leave when I was originally scheduled to, that he was contemplating on lengthening our stays for several years. My group wound up completing a task – again, I wish that I could explain further, but I don't trust the mail – that would have taken us into those years and we are back on schedule. This means that I'll only have two more years to serve before I can come home for good. Twenty-four months makes it sound even closer. As soon as I step foot back in Amaranthine's harbor, I intend on heading straight to Highever that same day. I can't wait to see you._

_I think of you often. I had to stop myself from purchasing a vial of perfume the other day based on the fact that it was similar to what I remember you wearing. I miss hearing the sound of your voice, I miss seeing you smile. Rose, the tavern owner's wife that I've written to you about before, calls me a lovesick mooncalf when she catches me daydreaming. She assures me that she's the only one aware of my condition and that she finds it quite comical that thoughts of you are the only things that can crack my usual behavior._

_I can't wait for the day when we'll finally be together. After so long away, I swear that nothing will ever keep us apart again. I love you._

_Yours always,_

_Nathaniel_

Moira wiped at her face with her fingers, catching a sentimental tear that had slipped past her eye. "Oh, love. I can't wait to see you again either," she breathed, holding his letter close to her chest. She blew out her candle and climbed into bed. As was her habit whenever she received new word from the Free Marches, she folded up the letter and placed the square of paper inside her breast binding so that Nathaniel's words could be that much closer to her heart while she slept. Sighing contentedly, she hugged the spare pillow, wishing for the millionth time that it was Nathaniel she was holding.

* * *

Moira's eyes snapped open at the sound of Quinn growling next to her. He normally slept curled up behind her knees with his head on top of her hip, but he was sitting at full alert and staring at the door. "Quinn?" she whispered, "what's wrong?" Her dog didn't pay her any attention, his eyes focused at the closed entryway.

Fully awake now, Moira could make out what sounded like battle sounds coming from the courtyard below her bedroom. She stifled a scream when she heard pounding at her door, Quinn leaping from the bed to stand directly between whatever was on the other side and his mistress. Grabbing the dagger she always kept at her bedside, Moira rolled off the mattress and scuttled underneath the bed's frame. The heavy fringe from the edge of her coverlet slid down with her, hiding her position from whoever was intruding.

"The castle is under attack!" she heard one of the servants scream as the door finally burst open. Moira put a hand to her mouth when she saw the man fall to his knees, an arrow protruding from his back. Quinn leapt over the body, snarling as he attacked someone in the hall.

"Damn bastard mutt will keep the lot out there busy," someone was saying, the bedroom door shutting. Moira heard the sound of her lock engaging and her hands began to sweat as she held her dagger tightly. She could see the feet of her weapon stand from her spot and she wished that she had thought to grab her sword.

Two sets of boots rounded the bed. "She ain't here," one set said, his feet tapping impatiently.

"Where else could she be? The rest of the castle has already been taken," the second set told the first.

Set One sounded angry. "We could be lootin' the good jewelry and silver like the rest instead of playin' seek an' find with some spoiled brat."

"But I want to have a bit of fun with her," Set Two argued. Moira finally placed the voices as the two guards from Amaranthine that she had spoken to in the Great Hall. She didn't think it was possible, but her eyes grew even wider. Why would Howe's men attack the castle? "I want that sweet piece of ass underneath me before I go and slit her throat. I want her to scream for me just like that Antivan whore did."

Moira lay perfectly still, her eyes narrowing. She waited, listening as the second guard opened and closed her armoire, shoving her clothes aside. The first guard could be heard rifling through her jewelry box, exclaiming about how much each piece would sell for. She knew that it was only a matter of time before the second guard looked under her bed, and with a silent prayer to the Maker for strength as the guard's boots came within striking distance, she lashed out. Moira personally sharpened each and every one of her knives as a rule, keeping them all razor sharp. Her dagger went through the leather of the guard's boot and sliced through the tendon at the back of his ankle. He let out a pained shriek, his body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. He crawled a little bit away, inadvertently bringing himself face to face with Moira. He had enough time to open his mouth before Moira plunged her dagger directly into his eye. He twitched once, then went still.

"Oi, you. What do you think…" The man didn't even stand a chance. Moira grabbed the fallen guard's sword out of his slack hands and rolled out from underneath the opposite side of the bed. Earrings and strings of necklaces spilled out of the guard's hands as he fumbled for his own weapon. Moira charged at him; her dagger sliced at his right arm and she put all her momentum into ramming the sword in her right hand underneath the well padded portion of his armor and through to the other side. She stood there on shaking legs and felt the man's blood soak into her nightgown. Gagging, she tore the offending piece off and hurriedly threw on the training armor she kept on a stand next to her weapon rack as well as a pair of boots.

"What's going on?" Eleanor said, rushing into the shared hallway, a bow in her hands. "Are you all right?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Moira told her, taking in the scene before her. Quinn had mauled at least two of the guards. Another lay there with arrows sticking out of his chest. "These are Howe's men."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That traitorous bastard. He meant to attack when we were at our weakest! His troops were held up by the weather, my foot. I'll cut his lying tongue out myself!"

"Have you seen Father? We need to get everyone out of here!"

"He never came to bed." Her mother's hand flew to her mouth. "You don't think that…" She shook her head. "No, I don't want to think that. Come on, we need to get Oren and Oriana before we go look for him."

Oren's bedroom was Moira's first priority. She kicked the door open all the way, holding her blades out at the ready. Quinn ran in before her, sniffing everywhere while Eleanor stayed outside to guard the hallway. "He must have gone to his mother's room," Moira said, once she and Quinn both looked in every area of the room that a little boy might hide himself in. Then she thought back to the first guard's words. "Oh Maker, please let her be alive."

They nearly tripped over the body of a Howe guard sprawled in the doorway. The room was completely dark save for the moonlight that came in from the windows and Moira closed her eyes as she caught what lay on the bed. "I'm so sorry," she said, gently smoothing Oriana's dress back in order from where it had been rudely bunched up at her hips. Tears made her vision blurry as she passed her fingers over her sister-in-law's eyes, erasing some of the fear that was frozen on her face. There was a dark stain of blood underneath her head from where the guard Moira had killed had slit Oriana's throat.

"Auntie?" Moira whirled around at the sound of Oren's voice. She'd passed over him at first, the shadows next to the bed making his little body look like a pile of rumpled fabric. "Is that you?"

Moira fell to her knees beside him. "My little Oren," she whispered, gathering him up in her arms. She winced when he made a pained noise as she moved him to where she could see his injuries better.

"Have the dragons come?" he asked, his voice sounding very faint.

"No, my love. Just men. Very, very bad men."

The blood that was already seeping underneath her fingerless gloves was starting to cool. "I'm sorry that I wasn't brave or strong enough."

"No, sweetheart. You're my brave boy, you know that." In the moonlight, Moira could see the light in Oren's eyes start to dim. Her fingers felt the clean edge of the stab wound on his chest and the ragged tear at the back of his tunic.

"Auntie, it hurts," he said, his voice shaking as he started to cry. "I want my mama."

She could tell that he was fading fast. "_I'm here,_" she whispered, tears making her voice thick as she spoke to him in Antivan like his mother often did. "_Don't cry, my love. Everything will be fine._" She ran the backs of her fingers over his cold cheek and hummed one of Oriana's favorite lullabies she would sing to him when he had nightmares. Her shoulders shook and she let out a loud sob when she felt Oren's breath puff against her knuckles. He smiled up at her once, and then went still.

The sound of her mother weeping in the doorway made her turn. "Howe will pay for this," Moira said between clenched teeth. Red clouded her vision and she stood up to place her nephew on the bed next to his mother. She kissed Oren's forehead one last time, horrified when she realized that her fingers had left bloody marks over his pale cheeks. Eleanor softly closed the door behind them, her back straight and her eyes showing a steely resolve that gave Moira enough strength to go on.

Fire had erupted in the outer corridors, archways that would have led them straight to the castle gates collapsing and forcing the three of them to take the long way around. Servants were either dead or running for their lives. Everywhere they went, they encountered a great number of Howe's men. The small amount of guards that Fergus hadn't already taken with him was clearly outnumbered, but it didn't stop them from defending the castle as best as they could. Moira bit back the urge to vomit as she cut down one soldier after another. This was completely different than what she had spent twelve years of her life training for. The closest thing to a person that she had ever put her sword through were the practice dummies that lined the garrison training hall and while her instructors had taught her how to defend herself well, none of them had actually _meant_ to hack off her arms or run her through. She said a silent prayer of thanks to Roland for urging her to learn to move quickly, her agility enabling her to dodge the majority of the blows she faced and give her enough time to sneak behind several guards in order to stab them in the back. She even employed a few dirty fighting techniques she had picked up from the boys in the stables, stunning men and giving her an opportunity to attack that she probably wouldn't have had otherwise. She and Quinn were able to wade into the main part of the fray while her mother watched her back, picking off enemies at a safe distance. The smoke from various other fires made Moira's eyes sting and she could tell that she was going to need to find a place to safely catch her breath pretty soon.

"Wait, we'll hide in the treasury for now," Eleanor said, unlocking the door with a key she kept around her neck. "The Cousland family blade and shield are here; I don't want Howe to get his filthy hands on either." They made their way inside the treasury where Moira exchanged her training armor for a more durable suit made out of leather and chainmail. Now that there was enough time for adrenaline to wear off, she could feel the burning marks along her legs and arms where she hadn't been quick enough to completely dodge a blow.

"Take this, darling," Eleanor said, handing her a sword and scabbard. "This blade has been in the family for generations. It should be used to cut that murderous fiend's head off his shoulders." Surprisingly, the shield wasn't as heavy as Moira thought it might be. She slung it over her back for safekeeping, finding out that she was still able to move both of her arms freely. The shield also served a dual purpose – while it was on her back, it protected her from any errant blows that she might have otherwise gotten hit with. Better armed, the three of them, along with several Highever guards that they had come across, made it towards the Great Hall.

"Thank the Maker you two are safe!" Roland said after they had encountered a number of men already fighting. Moira had been busy taking down a mage – Moira thought it highly hypocritical of Rendon to employ one after years of listening to the Arl loudly voice his disdain for the Circle – who had seemed to be hell bent on striking Roland with lightning. It had felt extremely satisfying to cut her down, especially after having to dodge a fireball the woman had lobbed her way. The smell of burnt hair told Moira that her braid hadn't fared well, but she was past caring about that at this point.

"Have you seen my father?" Moira asked, limping over to him. Her calf was screaming in agony where a Howe archer had grazed her with his arrow.

"I have. He was badly hurt and making his way towards the kitchens." He wiped at his brow to keep blood from trickling into his eye.

Eleanor drew a sharp breath. "He must be headed towards the servant's exit in the larder. We must find him."

Moira pulled on Roland's arm. "Come with us," she pleaded.

Ser Gilmore shook his head. "I gave an oath. Staying here is the only way I can protect your family now."

She shook her head, realizing what he was planning on doing. "You'll protect us far better if you're _with_ us!"

"No, my lady. The Hall's doors will not hold for very long. There is but one way to the kitchens now; the fire has cut other paths off, so you should be relatively safe from Howe's forces. If this door fails, then you won't be safe for very long."

Moira jumped when the door shook, the braces that the other guards were holding up beginning to buckle. "Don't do this."

"You and your mother need to get out of here before it's too late." He took Moira by the elbow and led her towards the door where Eleanor and Quinn were already waiting.

She dug her heels in, holding onto his hand until her knuckles went white. "Rory, _please_."

The grim set of Roland's mouth told her that he knew the chances of him surviving this attack were slim to none. "You've always been one of my closest friends. This is the last thing that I can do for your family, and I intend on doing it well." He gave her one of his smiles, the kind of smirk that had always signaled brewing mischief back when they had been children. "As I said earlier, I like to get all my ass kickings in before breakfast."

She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. "I'll never forget you," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

"Nor I you. Remember: move quickly and protect your flank. The real reason I always bested you is because your left side is weak. Now go!"

Moira ran out the doorway, listening as Roland threw benches and tables that hadn't been used to bar the main door on the other side. "Maker watch over you, my friend," she whispered, drawing her blades when she heard the sound of people approaching from ahead. Between the three of them, they were easily dispatched. Moira's ribs ached from where she had taken a hammer blow from a man wearing the armor of Rendon's personal knights, but she had won, striking him with three fast, consecutive blows and then pivoting, the Cousland blade lopping off his head.

"Oh, Nan," Eleanor murmured, crouching down to put her hand against Moira's former nanny's throat to check for a pulse. Moonlight shone off the arrow shaft protruding from Nan's chest as well as the wicked looking fillet knife still clutched in her hand. The end of the blade was bright red, and there was a Howe soldier lying next to her, his hand toppling over the basket of potatoes nearby. "At least you took some of them down with you."

Moira shoved the door closed and barred it with a table and a heavy barrel of grain. Quinn was already pawing at the door to the larder, whining in distress. It was dark, which was why Eleanor hadn't seen the dragging bloodstain, catching herself with the doorframe as she slipped before she pitched face first on the ground. "There you two are," Bryce wheezed. There was even less light in the larder, but Moira could still make out her father's figure as he lay there amongst the pantry staples, a dark and growing puddle of blood collecting underneath him.

"Bryce!" Eleanor cried, running to her husband's side. Her hands fluttered over his body, almost as if she weren't sure where to touch to staunch the bleeding first. "Maker's breath, what has happened?"

"Howe and his men. I hadn't expected…" Bryce coughed, blood spilling from his mouth.

"We have to get you out of here!" Moira said, prying at the panel hiding the back exit.

"I don't think I would survive the standing," her father told her, shuddering as he tried to push himself up on his elbow.

"Bryce, no. We'll find you healing magic. Things will be fine." Eleanor was crying in earnest now, her hands cupping the sides of his face.

"If only you could make it so." He grimaced again.

"If you can't walk, then we'll have to drag you," Moira told him, throwing goods out of her way as she looked about the larder for something to pull her father on.

"Only if you're willing to leave pieces of me behind."

Eleanor frowned. "This is not the time for jokes."

"You're right. Howe's men haven't found this exit yet. You and Moira need to leave me behind."

"He's correct," Duncan said, appearing in the doorway. Blood marred his clothing. "This exit has yet to be discovered. We're going to need to leave soon before that changes."

"How did you get here?" Moira looked up from where she was cutting pieces of burlap into makeshift bandages. "The Hall's door was barred."

"They have broken through." He caught the horrified look that Moira gave him. "I am sorry."

"Duncan, I beg you. Take my wife and daughter to safety."

"I will. In return, I will need something from you."

"Anything."

"I came to Highever seeking a recruit."

Bryce glanced at Moira and nodded. "I understand."

She recoiled. "What? No! My place is with you two!"

"You fought your way though Howe's soldiers. I'm looking for someone of the same caliber to join the Wardens."

Eleanor looked at her husband. "Bryce, are you sure?" she asked, running her fingers over his cheek. He nodded. "Darling," she told Moira. "Go with Duncan. The two of you will be faster without me and I can buy you some time."

"Mother, no!"

"Please, Moira, do as I say."

"Eleanor…"

"I'll kill every one of those bastards that come through that door, but I refuse to abandon you, Bryce."

Moira knelt beside her parents. "Don't ask me to leave you behind," she begged, holding onto their hands. "I can't. I…"

"You _must_ live, Pup," Bryce told her. He shook as he slipped two rings off his fingers. "He may get the castle and the land, but I will be damned if Rendon gets that which means the most to me. You must find Fergus and tell him that he is Teyrn now."

"Papa…" The rings were familiar to her. One was her father's wedding band, the other his signet ring that bore the Cousland crest. "I will. I swear to you, I will get vengeance for this."

Bryce nodded, his eyes closing. Moira held her breath, fearing that he had died from blood loss. "Vengeance…"

"I love you both, so very much," Moira whispered, hugging her mother.

"Then live, my darling girl. Make your mark on the world." She pressed her own wedding band against Moira's palm. "They belong together. I want you to have them."

"We need to leave now," Duncan said, opening the back door wider. Sounds of soldiers were coming closer.

"Moira," Bryce called out right before she slipped out the door. "Don't let him win. You are a good, decent person. Don't let anger poison you. Don't let Rendon destroy that part of you."

Moira nodded, not knowing what else to say. She followed Duncan into the door and turned to close it. Right before she did, she caught one last glimpse of her parents that would be forever burned into her memory.

"I love you, Bryce," Eleanor said, standing over her husband, her bow drawn and aimed at the larder door.

"And I love you. Always."

* * *

Moira and Quinn ran alongside of Duncan through the forests surrounding the castle and away from the city. Every tree was familiar to her from her childhood days of running barefoot under the leaves, pretending to be all sorts of things. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that she would be fleeing from her home, having left her parents to die.

"We've broken past where they might find us," Duncan said. "We can rest for a moment, my lady."

Moira stared at the flames coming from the castle. "There's a stream nearby," she told him quietly. "If you're injured, we can see to your wounds there."

"Are _you_ hurt, my lady?"

"In a few places, but nothing that a potion or two can't cure." She had thought to snatch any potions and healing poultices that she had found during their escape, just in case they would need them. _Why hadn't I thought to give them to Father?_ The answer made her waver on weary legs. _Because you knew as well as he did that your meager supplies wouldn't have been enough to save him._ Quinn followed close beside Moira as she made her way to the water's edge. Kneeling, she scrubbed at her hands, thankful that while the full moon gave them plenty of light to make their way through the forest that it wasn't enough for her to make out the way that the blood on her hands clouded the water.

Quinn whined near her ear, his tongue licking the side of her face in an attempt to help with the cleanup. Her throat tightened, but still, no tears fell. It shocked her; after everything that had happened that night, it seemed as if she had left her tears in the room with her sister-in-law and nephew.

The stench of burnt hair was more than she could stand. Taking her dagger out, she grabbed one end of her long braid and sawed away until she was left with a rope of hair in her left hand. It felt so strange to feel her hair end almost above her shoulders after having it so long for years. She quickly braided up the sides in an attempt to keep her view clear, knotting the ends at the back of her head together to keep it in place.

A jab at her breast made her fish around to investigate what had poked her. Her breath stuttered out when she pulled Nathaniel's letter, folded and forgotten, out from underneath her armor. She stared at the words in the gloom before folding it back up the way it had been.

_I should be crying,_ she thought numbly. _I should be feeling something._ She guessed that she was in shock. She didn't feel anything; no sorrow, no fear, not even the burning anger that had consumed her and fueled her attacks during their escape. She had half a mind to drop Nathaniel's letter into the stream along with her hair, which was currently floating down with the current. It seemed as if the girl he had written to had died alongside her family there in the castle and Moira was nothing but an empty shell. Letting the letter float away almost seemed poetic at the time, but she stopped herself before she could let go. She pressed her lips against the folded pages and slipped them back underneath her armor. Everything she had once known had been taken away from her in less than an hour. All she had left of her past was a sword, a shield, her parent's wedding rings and the signet ring she would eventually give to Fergus. If anything, she wanted to cling onto Nathaniel for as long as she possibly could.

"I am going to kill your father, Nate," she said quietly, her voice flat and emotionless. "How did things ever come to this?" Several hours ago, she had been rejoicing at the thought of finally being able to publicly say that she was betrothed to the man she loved. Now she was plotting his father's death as repayment for the crimes committed against her family. Even if by some miracle she did manage to avenge her parents and survive, what then? Surely Nathaniel wouldn't want anything to do with her. She curled her hands into fists and closed her eyes tightly. Rendon Howe had found a way to take _everything_ away from her. Her world had been turned on its ear and she was helpless as to what to do next.

She took a deep breath and stood up. Digging into the sack she had tied to her belt, she pulled out two health potions and gulped down the contents, feeling the burning paths on her arms and legs vanish. The pain at her calf had lessened to a dull throb. It wasn't completely healed, but it would do for now. At least it would make travel easier. "You are going to go Ostagar with Duncan," she told herself. "You will find Fergus and tell him what has happened, then the two of you will see Rendon brought to justice. Things will never be the same, but you _will_ make them right again." Straightening her spine, she walked back to where Duncan was sitting. She _had_ to make things right.

She was a Cousland, after all.

-end

Author's Note: And we're done with this one! I want to thank everyone who took the time to read my story; this has been one of the most enjoyable things that I've written in a really long while. I'm planning on doing some minor editing A Rush to the Start to incorporate little bits of Nathaniel and Moira's past that came up in this story as well as fixing some grammar and punctuation that have been bugging me for a while. After that, I'll more than likely be looking at this story again to do the same types of edits after I've let it sit for a while. I _am_ planning on writing at least one last in-game story involving these characters that will tie this story and its sequel together, but that won't be until November for National Novel Writing Month. Thanks again!


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